Causatum
by marshtomp madness
Summary: It's all over. Where does an unwilling servant of the Dark Lord go from there? Apparently, Draco discovers, straight to house arrest. And as it turns out, into Ministry protection from the escaped Azkaban prisoner after you. Eventual HPDM.
1. Only Slightly Broken

Begins at the end of DH- or rather, right before the epilogue, and branches off from there to be Draco/Harry. Wayyyyyyyy later in the story. D:

* * *

They sat in the middle of the Great Hall, on the floor, cross-legged. Around them, people ran, screamed, cried, hugged... mourned.

They did not do any of those things.

They had found who they were looking for- a tiny little peace, an oasis, but certainly the problems between them were much overshadowing any comfort they might have derived from that.

They were the Malfoys, and currently they were all too ashamed to look anyone in the eye, even each other. Mostly, they were invisible to those around them, though at one point a sympathetic-looking man stopped to offer them some bread from a plate the house elves had brought up.

Draco had cordially said, "Thank you, Professor Slughorn," and it had ended there. Narcissa and Lucius had nodded, moving their mouths asynchrously in something that might have been "thanks" if they'd had the willpower to put air through their voiceboxes.

Professor Slughorn had sighed.

"Draco, there is absolutely no reason you or your family should feel unwelcome."

They didn't see how that was possible, but Draco had felt the need to keep being polite.

"We'll keep that in mind."

Somebody, in their haste to reach another nameless someone across the room, nearly tripped over Draco. He hardly seemed to notice.

"I mean that."

"I know."

"Well, goodbye. And good luck. I mean that sincerely."

"Thank you."

He left, and none of them were sure whether they preferred the awkwardness of his presence or the awkwardness of its absence.

Lucius finally spoke.

"We should go home."

"Where is 'home'?" Narcissa asked, in a very small voice. "After all that's happened... I really don't wish to go back to the manor. Not yet, anyway."

Nobody else seemed to have anything to say.

For the first time that any of them had ever seen, Lucius raked his hand through his hair, leaving it to spill back out, disheveled. Narcissa reached out like she wanted to comb it with her fingers back into place, but pulled back at the last moment. She'd very neatly tied up her own long, wavy hair into a bun, but it had since frayed, and nearly an entire white strand stuck out from her head, straight up.

Lucius took that same hand that she'd so shyly stretched out in both of his own and pressed it to his mouth, resting his face against it in a way. Narcissa watched him with tenderness, looking much less hollow.

Draco watched them both from where he was supporting his head on his hands, which were supported by his elbows on his knees. It was probably the most forlorn position he'd ever assumed.

"I suppose... we could spend the night in an inn in Hogsmeade." Lucius still had enough pride that the words sounded distasteful to him.

They looked at Draco suddenly, seeming to notice him for the first time since the subject had been brought back up.

"Draco, dear, what do you think?" Narcissa said, combing her hair back into place and sitting up straight again. She leaned over to fix his collar, which had popped out of place in the fights, and ran her finger over a burn that was on his cheek. "My poor baby," she suddenly said, drawing out her wand, just like when he was young and had skinned his knees. She waved her wand over his cheek and the burn bubbled for a moment, healing itself under her magic, just as the scrapes had when he was five.

"It's better than going back _there_," Draco said, repeating his mother's sentiments with a sudden vehemence that surprised himself most of all.

"That's settled, then," Lucius said, and at that moment, Narcissa and Draco suddenly realized he felt the same way they did about the manor at this moment.

So they left.

* * *

The hotel they stayed in- the only one with any room left- was dirty and dingy and Draco dodged a few cockroaches on his way up the narrow creaky stairs.

The room they had acquired for the night was just as bad as the rest of the hotel, and to make things worse was only one room, with two beds. So they all sat awake, staring at the ceiling, for several hours.

They didn't sleep at all, and when the bluish dawn shone in their window, Narcissa got up and left. Lucius and Draco watched her shut the door behind herself.

She returned with three bottles of butterbeer and some pastries.

"In the morning?" Lucius said, slightly disturbed.

She shrugged, and opened a bottle, and pinching its neck between two pale fingers, lifted it to her still-lipsticked mouth and took a sip. She gave Draco and Lucius something flaky and sugary to eat.

"I would have brought tea. But I couldn't really find anyplace to get some..."

Lucius accepted the bottle. "It'll be something, anyway."

The butterbeer, good as it was, did very little to help their spirits. Narcissa put her head on Lucius's shoulder as he sat on the tiny inn bed, drinking his butterbeer. Draco concentrated on the fuzzy feeling developing behind his eyes. They all tried to avoid looking at the walls of the room, which were, in the warm light of morning, more clearly cracked and dirty than they had appeared in the dark last night. Something scurried into a hole in the corner, and Narcissa squeaked as Lucius and Draco simultaneously shuddered.

"We'll have to go home sometime," Lucius said.

Narcissa closed her eyes and nodded slowly against his shoulder. The same morning light that illuminated the cracks and mysterious stains on the walls illuminated the purple circles under her eyes, so much more prominent against her paper-pale skin.

"Hmph," said Draco.

* * *

Draco's hair felt cold and greasy in the morning air- just looking at the shower in the room had made him feel dirtier, and he almost put his hood up to hide his face. But he imagined that would only draw more stares to himself, and so he refrained.

It didn't feel like he was a Malfoy anymore. Being a Malfoy meant you kept your pride in the worst of moments, and here, darting through the early-morning crowds of Hogsmeade, haggard, unable to look in anyone's eyes-

That was as far away from proud as he could get, he imagined. His parents were faring better, but not by much. Their heads were held high, but Draco knew that they were just looking above anyone that looked at them, not to mention the way they were sort of clutching each other, almost like a very awkward three-legged race.

They Disapparated from the village at the outskirts, where there were fewer people, and found themselves at the steps to Malfoy Manor- well, Draco wasn't quite as close as his parents, but he made it there all the same. Their shoes clicked on the stone path to the house, and Lucius opened the door carefully.

Narcissa walked inside and broke down in tears.

"It's just so... cold..."

The other Death Eaters had put out the fires before they left. Draco knew what she meant. The fireplaces, one at each end of the great Main Hall, had never been out, not once in his entire lifetime. There was always someone here, tending them... He imagined that, just to rub salt in the wound, they'd freed the elves.

Lucius put his arms around her.

"It's okay," he said. "We can relight them."

She shook her head.

"But it won't be the same."

They moved on through the house, drawing their cloaks closer to themselves, stepping over what was left behind when the Death Eaters fled. They'd destroyed the manor when they were there, hardly caring that things were expensive or important. Then again, they hadn't cared much about the Malfoys themselves... Draco wasn't sure who had caused him more shame. The Death Eaters and their treatment of the Malfoy family, or the Good Side, with Saint Potter and his band of misfits, who had given the Malfoys sympathetic looks on their way out of the Great Hall. Draco could feel his blood rushing to his face at the mere thought of it... whichever one _it_ was.

Draco entered his room for the first time in what felt like years, though he had slept here no more than two days ago. It felt... different. Colder. Darker. Everything was neat, so he supposed that the elves had cleaned it at least once while he was gone. He sighed and lay down on it, looking around at his room, and noticed that however different it might feel, it hadn't visibly changed.

No... it was Draco who had changed.

He buried his face in his pillow, and was suddenly absolutely exhausted, and fell asleep with his clothes still on.


	2. The Strongest Magic

You know, I was thinking about writing a younger kids fic. Like Scorpius and James and Albus and Rose and all.

But that just makes me feel sad and old...

Anyway, here's chapter two: More Draco angst.

* * *

When he woke up again, it was nine o'clock at night. He couldn't remember why it was so quiet for a few moments, and then everything came back, along with that strange feeling of the unreal that comes with falling asleep during the day and waking up at night. He stared at his ceiling for a few moments, too awake to roll over and go back to sleep, but unsure of what to do or where to go if he did get up.

Then his stomach growled and he had an answer.

The rest of the manor was still cold when he went downstairs. His mother was already rooting through the cabinets.

"Hello, Draco," she said. "The elves are gone, did you notice?"

The defeat hadn't left her voice. It was still small and tired.

"Yeah. Mum, what are we going to do?"

She sighed, and her shoulders sank.

"I don't know. Your father checked with Gringott's- we still have our money, but... Here, Draco, have you ever cooked before?"

He shook his head.

"Neither have I," she said, finally turning to face him and holding several cans in her hands. "It'll be a terrible chore, but..." She was smiling, but it was too wide to be real.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he said, and left.

His dad was staring at the wall in the room where they would meet company. The other Death Eaters' things were strewn all over the place. When Draco came into the room, he didn't notice. Draco waved his hands in front of his dad's face. He started.

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm bored."

"Then you can help me fix the wards around the house," Lucius said. "We had to open them for the Death Eaters to come in. But now we'll have to make new ones, otherwise... Well, we can't have our old friends come calling. Do you have a wand?"

Draco shrugged. "Potter returned Mom's to me. I guess he found it."

Lucius led him outside, and he first disarmed the wards that were previously there.

"Now, help me make new ones. The wards will be more powerful if we both contribute, even if you are using your mother's wand... You know, she helped me do this when my father died," he added, as though it was important. "You copy what I do with my wand, though I will be casting the spells. I suppose you'll have to learn them sometime. If not removed, they die when I die."

"Dad, you'll never die."

His father laughed humorlessly.

He followed his father outside in silence, and his father almost immediately began muttering things and waving his wand.

Draco copied what his father did, and the wards lit up in the air around them, ancient symbols glowing gold, silver, crimson against the night sky, Old Magic swirling around him and his father for what felt like hours. Draco could still feel them, burnt into place on the walls of the house, directly over old markings that he'd walked by, ran his fingers over every day as a young child and never really seen or understood. He'd wondered what his father had meant by he'd have to learn them- how would he learn them just once? But they'd never leave his mind now. Even the words his father repeated over and over... _Ego dico super maioribus vox protego is moenia locus, ut nemo tamen qui adveho me vadum penetro. Ego dico..._

Because, he suddenly realized, this was more than just waving his wand around to lift a feather off of a desk- this was _real _magic, this was the deepest, truest sort of magic there was, and Draco could _feel _it, it had always been there, with him, he just had never known about it, never tapped into it-

"It's powerful, isn't it?" his father said quietly during a break in the murmuring. "Yes... as your classmate showed us yesterday, protective magic hardly comes close to anything the Dark Arts can do. I had forgotten... Do not ever make that mistake."

Draco nodded, barely hearing him, tracing the wand movements and watching the spells light up.

They walked around the house, and the clock in the main hall chimed two when they went back inside. Narcissa was waiting for them, and she had heated some food up from the cans. Some corn and some kind of soup. Draco was suddenly hungry.

"You've put the wards back on, then?"

Lucius nodded.

"Good," she said. It did feel much safer inside the house.

Narcissa handed him a bowl of soup, and he ate it and went to bed.

* * *

The next day, there was a knock at the door.

It was Draco who answered it, something he'd never done before. His father whispered to him, "If you want to let the person in, grip your wand in your wand hand and say, 'Entra'. If not, back away slowly."

Draco nodded, and looked out the window. Harry Potter stood outside, staring at his feet and frowning.

He opened the door.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to tell your family something. Official Ministry business."

Draco held open the door. Potter tried to walk through, but the moment his foot crossed the threshold, he jumped back with a yelp. Something sizzled in the air, and Draco could feel the wards flare up.

"Oops," Draco said. "I forgot."

His father gave him a dirty look. Draco smirked.

"Draco, that wasn't funny," his mother said from behind him.

"Entra," said Draco, with his wand in his wand hand.

And with that, Harry Potter stepped into Malfoy Manor. This time, Draco could feel the wards opening to accept him. It was a strange, vulnerable feeling. Draco didn't like it. His father put his hand on his shoulder, and Draco realized he felt it too.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," he said.

They nodded.

"You've probably guessed by now that the other Death Eaters are in Azkaban?"

Narcissa went white, and Lucius gripped his cane more tightly.

As for Draco, he felt dizzy. Azkaban?

But Draco didn't see any more wizards, and Potter certainly couldn't take them on...

"However," Potter continued, "in light of actions taken by your family-" What? Was he referring to Draco's refusal to identify him? No... it didn't sound like that... "-in recent conflicts, we are instead placing you under house arrest and rehabilitation. "

Narcissa cried out and lay on the couch, eyes shut, apparently overcome. The tension in Lucius' face and hands vanished, and Draco could feel himself relaxing as well.

"Ministry agents will be residing here. Just for a while."

"Better than Azkaban, I suppose," Narcissa said in a faint voice.

Potter nodded. "Anyway, I just wanted to say- thanks, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa opened her eyes to stare at him, slightly openmouthed.

"Nothing I did was for you," she said.

Draco was even more confused.

"I know, but you did it anyway. Without you, I'd be dead," Potter admitted.

"Mum-" Draco began. Lucius looked curious, too.

"Not now, Draco."

"But-"

"We're home and we're safe and we're together. That's all that matters right now."

She turned and buried her face in the cushion, but her sobbing was still entirely too audible. Lucius went to sit by her, stroking her hair.

"And I owe you," Potter said to Draco. "For that time- a while ago. When you didn't identify me. I definitely would have died then if it weren't for you."

"Then I suppose we're even, aren't we?" he snapped. "You didn't have to save me, back in the Room of Requirements. I didn't have to save you. I hardly needed to," he snorted. "If they'd even looked at you they'd have realized you looked exactly the same. Ugly as sin, and that _stupid _scar. So quit acting like you're the great humble Saint Potter. You _did _come here to rub it in our faces, didn't you?"

His mother stopped sobbing, but only because she probably fainted. All the blood disappeared from Lucius' face.

"Have I mentioned yet who will be in charge of your house arrest?" Potter asked, and Draco's stomach sank. That was definitely the grin of the cat that swallowed the pixie.

There was a knock at the door.

"Here they come now," Potter said, and opened the door. Draco noticed that his dad had let them in, and Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood stepped in through the doors.

"Oh, fantastic," Draco muttered. "We'll _never _get the Mudblood stench out."

"You're just as charming as ever," muttered Hermione. "It's okay. Moody'll be coming by any day now, and I'm sure your behavior will improve then."

Draco flinched.

His mother was staring at them all in shock.

"Draco!"

"It's okay, Mrs. Malfoy," Luna Lovegood said, walking right in as though she owned the place and sitting crosslegged on the coffeetable. She smiled a little bit. "We already know he's an ass."

"Oh," she said faintly.

Lucius sighed. "We will be under arrest for how long?"

"A year or so," Potter said. "The Ministry will send out someone to check up every day. These three will be here full time."

Lucius nodded.

"Is that all?"

Potter nodded. "I've got stuff to do, so I'm out of here. It's just that I wanted to come by and say thanks."

Narcissa's expression grew cold again. "I don't want you to remember it."

"Except for the part where it keeps you out of jail, of course," Potter said. "But hey. We're even now, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," she said. "I suppose I shall learn your names, as well?" she said to the remaining three. Potter left.

"That's the Mudblood, that's the slow one, and that's the crazy one, from left to right," Draco offered.

"Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood, respectively," Luna said.

"I see," said Lucius. "This is the same Hermione Granger whose marks were always higher than yours, Draco?"

Draco winced inwardly. "Yes, Dad."

"Well, Draco, I believe there is a lesson we need to learn from this."

Longbottom raised his hand.

"We are not your schoolteachers," said Narcissa. "You are free to talk as you wish."

"We need to become familiar with the layout of your house," he said. The other two nodded. "So we'll see you around, okay? Before we came in, we were setting up charms around the outside so you wouldn't be able to leave. Just so you know. We noticed the ones protecting it already, by the way, and they seemed really strong so we left them where they were."

"Which part did you hex, Longbottom? Just in case I ever feel like taking my chances trying to get out," said Draco loudly as they left the room.

As soon as they were sufficiently out of earshot, Narcissa and Lucius turned around to face Draco.

"Draco, is this honestly how you normally treat your fellow students?" Lucius asked.

"Just the Gryffindors." said Draco. "And occasionally the Hufflepuffs. And the first-years."

His parents looked like they didn't know whether to be proud of him or try disciplining him.

"Things have changed," Lucius finally said. "We lost the war, Draco. In case you don't remember."

"Oh, so I'm suddenly supposed to make nice with all the half-wits like Weasley and Longbottom? And you know, Potter and I probably couldn't be civil to each other if we tried."

"Well, you don't have to become their best friend," said Narcissa. "But... perhaps it would be better for us, if we just tried a little bit harder to act like we fit in. Like last time."

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other.

"Draco, things are going to be different now-" Narcissa tried.

"I _know _that," he snapped. "I just don't like it, that's all."

"Well, none of us like it," Lucius said. "And they never really trusted us, did you know that?"

Draco nodded.

"So we're going to have to... lay low."

"Shouldn't be hard if we can't get out of our house."

"No, honestly, Draco. Please. Try. For me and your father," Narcissa said, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

"Mom, don't do that," Draco wiped his forehead, but he was comforted. A little. But he wasn't going to _say _that, of course. Merlin knew who might be listening. "Maybe... Maybe I'll just... keep my mouth shut more."

Narcissa smiled. "That's the spirit, sweetie."

Lucius nodded. "Perhaps we should... rethink our... philosophies. Try to not make enemies."

Narcissa and Draco stared at him.

He shrugged.

"I'm just saying... maybe we should think about what we're going to tell people. We can't just go around spouting Death Eater sayings."

"Well, obviously not," said Draco.

"So then perhaps you ought to stop referring to Miss Granger as a Mudblood," said Narcissa. "She seems like a perfectly competent witch, though I don't see how someone so capable can be a Mudblood... perhaps there are hidden witches and wizards in her ancestry? Either way, you shouldn't use that word, dear."

"I'll try to reduce its utterances," Draco said.

In his parents' hearing range anyway.

His parents sighed and looked at each other.

"We'll get through this," Narcissa said.

"We've put up with worse," said Lucius.

"And we have you," Narcissa said, drawing Draco in for a hug and clutching him much too tightly. "Whatever Harry Potter tells you I did... If he ever tells you... Draco, it was for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, trying to pull away. He found that she had buried her face in his neck- he'd been taller than her since fourth year- and had dug her nails into his back, and even his stone-cold father was patting her on the shoulder. Draco didn't move. "This is such a... Gryffindor thing. It's entirely too sappy. We're Slytherins, remember? Corruption and ruthlessness? _Oookay_... Mum, let go... I'm not going to disappear, you know-"

"Right," she said, and suddenly looked as though she was steeling herself for something unpleasant. Draco didn't like the way she suddenly eyed him. "Draco, the elves are gone, as you already know. Your father and I have decided that, though we'd prefer not to- it seems so... _plebian_, some chores are going to have to be done. By us. And you... Draco, would you... clean the dishes?"

Draco's reaction was heard throughout the entirety of Malfoy Manor. He wouldn't know it, but Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood all winced simultaneously in their various places all over the castle.

"_HAVE YOU GONE MAD?_"

* * *

That night, at dinner, Draco Malfoy picked at his reheated mashed potatoes and roast beef. Hermione took one bite and delicately spat it back out in her napkin. Neville looked slightly uncomfortable, but ate the food anyway.

Lucius and Narcissa, though seated across from each other at the incredibly long table, were doing the exact same thing: contemplating hexing their food into something interesting. Draco could tell because of the way that they were fingering their wands and muttering things under their breath.

Evidently, Luna could tell, too, because in between mouthfuls of congealed roast beef and lumpy mashed potatoes she told them, "Hexing your food doesn't work. It's very tricky, and you might not turn it into what you want. It'll probably taste the same, though you can change the appearance of it."

When everyone gave her questioning looks, she said, "Neither of my parents could cook, but before she died my mum would try to hex my dad's dinners into something tasty, or at least edible. Believe me. Food hexing is tricky."

The Malfoys put down their wands, and dinner continued in silence.

"So... we'll need rooms to sleep in," said Hermione after dinner.

"The guest rooms are on the third floor and up," said Narcissa. "Second floor is our rooms. You can have your pick from any on the other floors, though. You... didn't seem to bring bags. Will you need anything?"

"Oh no, it's quite all right," said Hermione. "Handy little spell." She held up her purse. "Carries everything I need. They have similar ones. Thanks anyway, though."

After dinner, Draco went to bed, brushing off his mother's request for him to do dishes with a "I'll do them in the morning".

Sleep wasn't easy. Draco had to consider a world in which he didn't refer to Granger as Mudblood. And then there was the part where the only one of the heroic trio he hadn't seen was Weasel-bee. He wondered when that would be, and hoped it wouldn't be soon.

* * *

But everything in Draco's life seemed ready to go to pieces, and it did when Ron Weasley of course showed up the next morning.

While Draco was doing the dishes under threat from his father.

"I'd think this would be servant's work to you," mused a slightly familiar voice from the doorway. Draco spun around, flinging soapy water all over the place. _Damn_.

"Weasel-bee!" cried Draco, feigning that he hadn't been surprised at all. "And how are you doing? Come to check up on that Mudblood of yours, have you? She's probably upstairs, reading herself to death in the library."

"Actually, I'm just the Ministry person sent to make sure you haven't all killed everyone and escaped," said Weasley. "But I thought I'd stay to watch you do the dishes. Since you're, you know. Above that sort of thing normally."

"Well, now you've seen it, and now you can leave."

"Ah, I haven't got anywhere to go after this. Do you sweep floors, too? Beat rugs?"

"Get the hell out of my house, Weasel-bee. Or are you tired of the smell of your hovel? It won't stay like this for long, not that the Mudblood's come to stink up the place-"

He suddenly found his face dangerously close the the water in the sink and a hand very uncomfortably placed on his neck.

"Stop insulting Hermione. You can't get away with this stuff anymore, Malfoy, not now that Voldemort's- oh come on, even I can say it now, surely you don't have to flinch?- now that Voldemort's dead."

"Get your hands off my neck. And, as a matter of fact, this is my house, and I _can _get away with that stuff," Draco said, holding his breath afterwards just in case. "As a matter of fact, I can even kick you out."

Aw, his hair was getting wet.

"Is that so?" Weasley said.

Draco didn't know that he knew the right words until he said them.

"_Expel_."

There was a cracking noise and suddenly Weasel-bee was gone. His father came in.

"Draco, what did you just do?"

"Kicked Weasley out for being a git."

Lucius covered his eyes with his hands. "Did any of what I told you about _not _making enemies sink in?"

"Weasley and I have a rivalry thing going. Actually, Potter and I do, but Weasley and Granger by extension, since he follows Potter around like a lost puppy-"

"Or like Vincent and Gregory followed you?"

The mention of his two friends stung unexpectedly. Goyle was in Azkaban now, no doubt, due to the Mark on his arm and his actions at the end, and Vincent was dead...

He hadn't even thought about Vincent since that battle.

"No," said Draco firmly. "Dad, did you know that Vincent died? In the battle?"

His father stiffened. There was a long pause as Draco turned back to the dishes and tried to brush his hair out of his face, avoiding his father's eyes. If his wet hands touched his face, and made it look like there were tears... well, there _weren't_ any. Definitely, definitely not.

"I'm sorry, Draco," he finally said, leaning against a counter. "I know you were close-"

"No," Draco snapped. "Not close at all. He practically- practically stalked me, him and Goyle, always following me around like a pair of goons-"

His voice cracked, and he scrubbed furiously at some congealed gravy.

Goyle was behind bars, and who was left to bury Crabbe? His parents were dead, both of them... Goyle's too... Draco wondered what had happened to them all. Had they just been shoved into some random grave? Was there a funeral? Who would deliver Crabbe's eulogy, if not Draco or Goyle? He wondered if Crabbe had ever gotten a tombstone. With his name on it. Did it have an epitaph? What did it say? _The dumbest person ever to have walked the face of the Earth lies here_.

That's what Draco would have put on it, anyway. Well, maybe the second dumbest. Goyle was the dumbest.

_The second dumbest person ever to have walked the face of the Earth lies here._

Perfect.

But it didn't really matter. Not now, anyway.

"He hardly ever talked," Draco found himself continuing to fill the silence. "You never knew what went on in their minds, those two... Probably nothing. Those two had to be the stupidest people I've ever met in my life," Draco finished. "No, not close at all."

His father sighed.

"If you say so. Do you need help with those dishes?"

"No, I can do them just fine by myself."

"Okay. I've got some people I need to talk to."

He left the kitchen.

"If you have people you need to talk to, why did you offer to help with the dishes?" Draco asked when his father was safely out of earshot, so of course there was no answer.

Draco sighed and finished the dishes, drying his hands on a nearby towel.

His hands looked _so _terrible. Keeping this up would ruin them forever.


	3. Dinner Fiascos and Doorknobs

I think that when Lucius says, "You've lost me my house elf!" he was referring to Dobby, who seemed to be basically his personal servant, and I think in the next few years he got some more.

Or that's what happened for the sake of my story (Oh, boy, I'm screwing so much with canon here, I can't even believe it), which takes a turn for the (hopefully) comedic in this chapter.

* * *

"_Draco!_" his mother called, jarring him out of his book, the magic of the house echoing her voice through the stone walls. "_Come to the kitchens, please!_"

He ignored her for another five minutes because the book was good. Of course, this meant that she found someone to find him.

"Draco Malfoy," said Luna from his door. He didn't even need to look up to know it was her. "Your mother's calling for you. She wants you to come to the kitchens to help with dinner."

"Tell her I'm on my way," Draco said.

"But you're not," Luna said simply.

"Tell her that anyway."

Luna touched her wand to her throat, then the wall. Draco jumped as "_Mrs. Malfoy, Draco would like me to tell you that he's on his way, even though he's not,_" reverberated around him in that distinctively hoarse-but-feminine voice.

There was a slight pause as Draco tried to decide which dungeon to lock her in, and how best to snap her wand.

"_Draco, listen to your mother, or at the very least do not display your disobedience to the rest of us._"

Now that Lucius was involved, Draco figured it would probably be best to go. He put the book down. He should have known better than to try to get Luna Lovegood to do his bidding. He probably wouldn't even have succeeded with an Imperius. She was just so strange he figured it wouldn't work on her anyway.

Not that he could perform one- that was his father's forte, after all.

Standing up, he pushed past Luna, who had become strangely fascinated with his doorknob and had begun muttering to it in a somewhat comforting tone, and headed down to the kitchens.

"Hi Mum," he said. She was standing over a very large pot of something and looking more frazzled than a Malfoy should ever look.

"Draco, sweetheart, can you help Mummy with her cooking? Slice up that celery in little itty-bitty bits. I'm trying to read a recipe. It's a lot trickier than it looked. But it just looked so tasty..."

Her voice drifted off. "Oh!"

She turned her attention back to the pot behind her, which had begun to make funny bubbling noises.

"Mum, neither of us are going to be able to do gourmet cooking. We've never cooked a day in our lives," said Draco.

"Draco-"

"And I'm proud of that fact!" he finished. "I've never had to cook because I'm a Malfoy, and we're powerful and rich and pure-blooded and we should certainly not have to do our own cooking!"

He punctuated that with a particularly passionate stabbing motion at the celery, and managed to slice off a chunk of his finger in the process.

Both Narcissa and Draco simultaneously screamed at the sight of his blood. Narcissa also fainted.

Lucius was at the door in a moment and had appraised the situation.

"For heaven's sake," he said, waving his wand at Draco. The wound was instantly cleaned and wrapped in a bandage. Another wave of the wand and the blood was cleaned up. "Narcissa?" he said, kneeling next to his wife on the floor and picking her up carefully. "It's all right."

"Lucius," she said, smiling up at him dreamily. And that was when she remembered, and leaped out of Lucius' arms as he dropped her, startled. "My _baby_! Draco, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "But making dinner is a dangerous thing, Mum. I shouldn't have to do it, if I'm going to get hurt so much."

Narcissa's eyes had gone all big and teary.

"My poor baby," she said, and looked at Lucius, who was rolling his eyes.

"That worked at your school because I was trying to get Dumbledore or that big oaf fired," Lucius said quietly. "Seeing as how I really don't want to get arrested, I'm not going to report myself or Narcissa. And that should heal just fine."

Draco's mouth dropped open.

"That's right," said Narcissa, although evidently it was hard for her to say. "Get- please get back to slicing the celery. And be more careful with your knife." She turned back to the pot, and continued to stir it.

"This is abuse," Draco said, glaring at the knife.

"Other children help their mothers with cooking all the time," said Lucius. "Other children can use knives. Learn."

"Other children aren't Malfoys," Draco retorted.

Lucius sighed.

"Draco, we have to rethink what we've all been taught-"

"Why?" asked Draco. The knife began to cut all on its own. Draco didn't really know how he'd done that, but tried to keep it up. "We're the Malfoys. We shouldn't have to do servant work- we've got more money than most wizards will see in their lifetimes, and we're being treated like trash. House arrest?" He sneered. "Oh, we'll get used to it very fast- the Dark Lord treated us the same way." The knife began to cut more vigorously.

Lucius opened his mouth.

"No- there isn't anything you can deny about that," Draco continued loudly. "And it'll continue- oh sure, you can talk all you like about our money but in the end we'll never get our status back, not now that we're Death Eaters. Maybe we'd even have done better if Voldemort had lived... Or if we'd been put in Azkaban, at least that way there wouldn't be any pretense of trying to help us out... Mum, why _aren't _we in Azkaban? It has something to do with you, doesn't it? Go on. You can tell us."

In the silence that followed, as Narcissa's eyes went wide and she cowered as though she was afraid Draco might hit her- he wouldn't, she was his mother, Lucius opened his mouth again.

"Like I said, don't even try to tell me anything different," Draco said. "All of them think we're trash."

"I wasn't going to deny it," Lucius said quietly. "I wish I could. But I can't. I was only about to tell you that Harry Potter has entered the manor."

Draco had nothing to say to this, only realizing that he hadn't noticed the wards opening up again. But now, he could feel it. He imagined he could even feel where Harry was, if he was in tune enough with the wards. He was- Draco turned back to the celery, away from his parents, closing his eyes to concentrate. Harry was...

In the doorway. Draco opened his eyes and turned around.

"I guess your wards told you that," said Potter from the doorway. "And Malfoy- Malfoy Jr, I mean, as much as I'd like to stick you in Azkaban for a few days- you wouldn't last much longer before you would be begging to be released, though you talk a good talk- I can't do that. I told them you lot would behave," he said, with a slight tinge of disappointment. "Apparently I was wrong- at least, when it comes to Malfoy Jr. anyway."

"I have every intention of cooperating, and I have discussed this with Narcissa. She does, too," said Lucius. "As for Draco... Well, I can't say."

The look Lucius gave him implied that the answer should be a firm _yes_.

Draco made a scoffing sound and tossed his hair back.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Potter. "See, since I pushed so hard for you to not be sent to Azkaban, they put me in charge of your punishment."

Draco and Lucius again looked at Narcissa to explain, who shook her head.

"Which means," Potter continued, ignoring their silent communications, "that if one of you steps out of line-" Draco was reminded of the Howler sent to Weasley a long, long time ago. Clearly, Potter had been spending time with Weasley's fat ugly excuse for a mother. "-I have been given the task of disciplining you, or so I was told by Percy Weasley this afternoon when Ron came back to tell me that you'd kicked him out of the house."

"My dad let him back in," muttered Draco. "Right afterwards."

"That doesn't matter," said Lucius. "The point is that you still expelled him."

"He did what?" Narcissa was shocked.

"Right, I'm glad we all see eye-to-eye on this," said Potter, looking relieved that Lucius and Narcissa seemed to agree. "So I told them I'd be taking your wand and storing it someplace safe for the time being. So this sort of thing can't happen again."

He held out his hand expectantly. Like Draco was going to just hand it over. He could feel his face twisting back into a sneer.

"Watch out, Potter," Draco said. "All this power's gone straight to your big fat head. It's a wonder you can even fit through the doorway. Oh, but at Weasel-bee's house the doorways must be extra large anyway, to fit that pig of a mother."

Draco could see Potter twitching, and he dropped the wand in Potter's hand at that moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed the knife drop at that moment. It had diced the celery into tiny, tiny pieces in its enthusiasm. He wondered if it had stopped because he didn't have his wand on him anymore or because he'd willingly given it over.

"Watch out, Malfoy," Potter said quietly. "Azkaban's still got a few cells left over. If you're really hankering after one, I'm sure I could pull a few strings. It is, after all, your mother that I owe, and not you."

Draco had something witty prepared to fight back with. Honestly, he did.

But he met Harry Potter's eyes, and for some reason what he saw there startled him. Did Potter really hate him that much? And then his mother beat him to the punch.

"You underestimate me," Narcissa Malfoy said coolly. "I may have helped you once, but you keep forgetting why. Helping you was incidental to my own agenda, as I told you yesterday. And, if you'll recall, my agenda is to keep my son and my husband safe... I may have helped you once," she repeated, "but if you get in the way of that agenda, you will find me to be a very formidable enemy."

Potter nodded.

"If you'll stay out of my battles, Mother, I would be very grateful," said Draco.

"Our battles are your battles, Draco. We are your parents," said Lucius.

To his credit, Potter didn't even flinch. Although that was probably the Gryffindor brave-to-a-fault mentality showing itself.

"I didn't come here to fight any battles," said Potter. "Just to warn you all what will happen if he continues his behavior."

"Well, now you've warned us, and you can leave."

"I was just about to do so."

Potter looked him again the eye with those startlingly green eyes- really, why hadn't Draco ever noticed how unique they were before? He couldn't recall ever seeing a green so bright- and then he Disapparated with a resounding _CRACK!_ and was gone.

It was silent for a moment as none of the Malfoys knew what to say.

Granger poked her head around the corner.

"I thought I heard Harry," she said.

"He visited for a moment," said Narcissa, and Draco could feel his sneer return as Narcissa's disapproval of the Mudblood in her house. "But he's gone now."

"Oh, that's too bad," Granger said, sighing. "I wanted to talk to him. Oh, well... did you need help with dinner?"

Draco fully expected his mother to politely decline, as a Mudblood wasn't worthy of touching their food. But instead she nodded, shutting her eyes as though she couldn't believe herself.

"Yes, if you have the time."

"Of course!" said Granger. "I've been reading all day. I love your library, Mrs. Malfoy. But my eyes hurt now."

Lucius had gone, and Draco decided to leave Granger there.

He threw out the celery first.

* * *

Dinner that night was a vast improvement over the dinner of the night before. Narcissa did not even look faintly disgusted with what they had produced- in fact, she looked rather pleased.

"Good job, Cissy," said Lucius, surprised.

Narcissa smiled prettily. "It wouldn't have happened without Hermione's help. Do you know, she helped me with the oven. I never realized what _preheat _meant. Silly, aren't I?" She and Lucius laughed.

Lucius nodded at Granger, too. "Thank you."

Granger smiled. "House elves are entirely unnecessary, as you can tell by the perfectly edible dinner before yourselves."

His parents' smiles waned a little bit.

Draco wasn't fooled. Narcissa had probably gotten Hermione to do the entire meal, and had probably cited the dreadful events of the afternoon as the chief reason for her exhaustion.

"Hermione, do you have to put SPEW in everything?" asked Longbottom.

Lucius' and Narcissa's smiles completely disappeared and each looked at their food with politely but inefficiently masked horror. Longbottom seemed to have been rendered speechless by his own stupidity. This, Draco decided, had to have been a first. It also gave Draco hope. Perhaps someday, Longbottom would realize his own ignorance and hurl himself off a cliff. It would even perhaps be an expression of his mad Gryffindor nobility, a sacrifice for the betterment of the world. Such selfless stupidity must have been in him somewhere. He was, after all, a Gryffindor.

"Yes, Granger," said Draco. "About that. This might be an uncomfortable question for the dinner table, but I have to ask- is that a Muggle custom? Or is that just a result of your unfortunate dental issues? Either way, it simply has to cease."

Granger gaped at him with something akin to shock, but with a little more humiliation than shock normally entails.

"It's the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare," she said after a moment, managing impressively to not scream. "S. P. E. W. _N__ot _'spew'. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, your food is fine. It's just an acronym for the group."

Lucius and Narcissa nodded slowly, and each began to delicately pick at their food, Lucius wearing a particularly vicious scowl. Draco remembered how pissed he'd been when Dobby had been freed.

"Do you still have those badges?" Luna asked curiously. She had been eating her food cheerfully the whole time, Draco noticed. "I lost mine. I'd like another one."

Lucius's scowl deepened further, and his fork made a _plink! plink!_ sound which steadily increased in volume against the plate as he chased a particularly slippery piece of broccoli.

Granger brightened considerably. "Yes, I might have a few. I'll find you one after dinner! Would anyone else like one? Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?"

He stared at her for a moment. The cheerfully hopeful expression on her face soon faded, replaced with realization and regret, and eventually a clear desire to hide under her chair.

"No," said Lucius firmly after a long pause, at which point he seemed sure that she understood what an offense he took the offer to be. "Certainly not. I am finished with dinner. Goodnight."

It was quiet as his boots clicked on the stones, all the way to the kitchens. Everyone winced as the plate crashing into the sink, particularly Draco, who couldn't tell if it had broken, but didn't really want to know or clean it up (though he knew he would have to do both at a future time).

"Oh, dear," said Luna. "I've done it again. Driven someone away from a conversation. I apologize."

Everyone ignored her, and they finished their food in silence.

* * *

After the SPEW-dinner fiasco, the relations between the Malfoy Manor residents became a little bit strained (though Granger helped with dinner each night and SPEW was never mentioned at the dinner table again. Indeed, Narcissa and Granger established a kind of rapport.).

Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter showed up daily. Weasley spent his time around Granger in the library, and Draco vowed never to enter that library again. It would be forever tainted by what he imagined the blood-traitor and the Mudblood got up to.

Potter spent his time around Longbottom and Loony. Draco imagined that the latter two got up to stuff, too. In fact, Draco had very little better to do than to skulk around the house, and somewhere inside his mind, there was probably a part of him that was very jealous that he didn't have anyone to hang out with.

That part was soon snuffed out by the rest of his brain, which screamed, _oh, like you'd really want to go hang out with the Chosen Boy, his idiot friend, and his other insane friend?_ Indeed, Luna had taken to greeting the doorknob of every room she entered. She'd also given them names. Draco even thought she might remember all these names, and use the correct one when she went to a doorknob she'd named. He would have proof, if he didn't have better things to do than to follow Loony Lovegood around all day.

Oh, who was he kidding?

He didn't.

Yes, he'd soon adjusted to life with the Ministry hanging over him. He had not, however, adjusted to life alone in the mansion. He supposed he would look back on these times and consider them wasted. He was young, he was handsome, and he was moderately rich. But he hid in his room all day and didn't talk to anyone, and instead lay on his bed, reading books from his shelf.

On one such day, Luna came to visit with his doorknob. She flung open the door and sat in front of the door, seating herself so that she was staring down the side of the door, and she could see both sides of the doorknob.

_Well, it might look like a face- the middle part that went into the doorframe being the nose and the two sides of the knob being its eyes--_ No! He must not think this way. He was certain it was in the part of his brain that thought he might want to make friends with this lot.

The crazy part.

"Hello, Arnold," she said cheerfully. "How's life been lately?" A pause. "Oh, I'm sad to hear that."

"Excuse me," said Draco, in a way that hopefully implied he did not think he was the one that needed to be excused.

"You're excused," said Lovegood, nodding at him, then turning back to the doorknob. "Well, Arnold, that sounds like quite the predicament. Oh! Draco Malfoy. Did you want to be introduced?"

"I am well-acquainted with my doorknob. I have used it every day for years."

"Oh, but that doesn't mean you're friends. I don't think you've been properly introduced. See, Doorknob Pixies are very particular about some things. Arnold, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, this is Arnold, your Doorknob Pixie."

Draco had never heard of a breed of pixie that inhabited doorknobs, much less one that was up for chatting with.

"Nice to meet you," said Draco with as much sarcasm as he could fit. "I'm sure we'll be great friends. Lovegood, could you restrict your chats to times when people aren't trying to read?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but this is an emergency. Arnold really needed my help."

"With what?"

"Well, he's been trying to get the attention of Marianne across the hall for quite some time, and she seemed interested a few times, but mostly she's just giving him the cold shoulder. Any advice?"

"She was probably just playing with him. One of those girls that likes attention. Shouldn't you be keeping your voices down? Perhaps she can hear you... If she exists."

Luna didn't even bat an eye.

"A little bit pessimistic. Maybe she's just playing hard to get?"

Arnold seemed pacified, because Luna patted him on the outward side and left.

"You'll have to keep me posted. I've got to go, though," she said. "Draco might be happy to talk to you, though. A little man-to-man chat?"

Draco didn't hear anything after she left, so he assumed Arnold the Doorknob Pixie found the idea just as sickening as he did.

* * *


	4. Jailbreak

AN: Whoo... just spent an hour reading through various different thoughts on Snape and the like. I love Harry Potter and all, but its fandom can really scare me. D:

That said, I totally wish I could believe I married Snape on the astral plane. (Ever heard of Snapewives? Do they really believe what they say? Salami?!)

* * *

"Oye, Greyback," said Rodolphus from the opposite cell. He was drawing pictures in the dirt, as usual. "Tonight's the night, isn't it?"

Greyback had expected Rodolphus to go mad quite fast, considering the death of his wife. But the Lestranges had never been close, he soon found out. Rodolphus was doing quite well. Every now and then he'd lapse into murmuring under his breath at absolutely nothing, but on the whole, Greyback had found him to be quite the conversational partner.

"Yeah, it is," Greyback replied. He examined the walls of the cell one last time, feeling almost nostalgic. Tonight, if all went well, would be his last night here. "Sure, the Dementors will know I'm changing, but they won't understand it... I hear that's how Black got out."

"The rat told everyone, I suppose," said Rodolphus. "Kind of makes me wish I'd tried for an Animagus. Mind coming back for me in a little while?" There was a pause as the Dementors converged on the hope in that statement. "Never mind," Rodolphus muttered. "I don't deserve it. I should just die now..."

"Yessss," said Greyback, watching the clouds crawl across the sky away from the moon.

"Promise me one thing," said Rodolphus. The ceasing of the scratching noises probably meant that he'd stopped drawing circles and was now trying to catch Greyback's eye.

"Maybe," said Greyback, focusing instead on the transformation that was about to take place. He'd found if he did, it seemed to pass a little bit faster and he assumed his _true _form up to seconds quicker.

And yet, he relished it anyway. His fingernails lengthened- grew to claws, sharper than knives, as were his teeth. His skin toughened, his bones rearranged themselves, and he became perfection- even in his weakened state, he could feel himself growing more and more powerful, lean muscles, poised to spring.

He would have eaten one of the rats if they hadn't hidden, knowing that Whatever Was Coming was very, very bad.

The Dementors ignored his screams of pleasure, assuming incorrectly that it was suffering and not the ecstasy of the transformation. He was half animal, half man, and they couldn't read it very well.

"Promise me you'll get revenge," said Rodolphus. "Those miserable Malfoys need to pay. They betrayed us all. We should have seen it coming."

It wasn't happiness, so it wasn't sucked out. It was, in fact, all Rodolphus and any Death Eaters in Azkaban had left. Greyback wasn't too interested in it... but he was annoyed that the woman had escaped because she had betrayed Voldemort at the last moment, when it was convenient.

So, perhaps. If he could. The son- he'd looked so tender. It would be a great revenge, though Greyback would have to restrain himself and not kill the boy. What fun it would be to see what the Malfoys would do when their only son was a werewolf.

"Of course- "

The pain was unbearable, and his words got lost. He had a few seconds left of planning-

His cell was very defended, but the Dementors were still on Voldemort's side. They would try, yes, but they wouldn't match up to him-

_Hungry._

_Soooo hungry._

_Swipe. Bars gone. The Dark Creatures hovered over, but a few swipes in their direction quickly drove them off. They were on his side, of course, so to keep up pretenses he scratched a few of them, and they stood in front of him._

_The Two-leggeds howled after him, cheering him as he flew on four legs past them and their cages, eventually plunging into the water outside in the night air, curving himself so that the dive into the deep waters below wouldn't be hard._

_He howled back to let them know that it had been a success, and swam through the chilly water all the way to land, where he ran so fast he dried in very little time at all, and howled again, just to let every animal in the vicinity know._

_He was out._

* * *

Draco shivered.

He hated the full moon.

Drawing the covers closer to him, he burrowed into the couch. It was stiff and uncomfortable- for company, of course. But this was the warmest room in the house. It was chilly in the manor at night, no matter the time of year. Doubly so after the fires had been put out. They'd been back for a while, but it would take even longer for the mansion to be fully warmed again, even through magical means. They wanted lasting warmth, which took time and effort if it was to be done right, not just heat for the moment. He sighed.

Narcissa gave him a strange look.

"Draco, dear, are you all right?"

"Just fine, Mum," he said.

"If you're cold, you can come sit next to your Mummy," she cooed.

There was something a little creepy about that.

"I'm not five."

"I know. But _I'm_ cold. Lucius, come over here, please."

"What a demanding woman."

Lucius went over and sat.

"What a whiny man," Narcissa said. "Oh, but so warm. You're forgiven, my love."

"If not, I'd have had to leave, and that wouldn't be fun for anyone. Come here. ...Hey, you're warm."

"Yes, dear. I just wanted you to sit with me," Narcissa said coyly.

"Yeah, or Draco. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Draco heard blankets rustling.

He made a puking face in the opposite direction only to realize Hermione Granger was passing by and giving him the I-can't-believe-you look that was normally his to use on other people. Then she shook her head and walked away.

"I'm going to bed," Draco announced.

"Okay, sweetheart," said Narcissa.

"Goodnight, Draco," said his father. Draco walked up the long spiralling staircase and didn't look back until he was all the way at the top.

When he crawled into bed after changing into pajamas, he could have sworn he heard a long howl outside.

Under the five blankets he'd pulled over his head, he shivered.

* * *

When he woke up in the morning, it was because his mother was shoving a Daily Prophet onto him and Lucius was shaking his shoulder. He only had a moment to register the yellowed teeth of the man on the front page before Narcissa swooped down and squeezed him tightly.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said, and he suddenly realized she'd been crying. "We were waiting for you to wake up but we wanted to talk to you about it so we couldn't stand it any longer-"

She pulled back and showed him the headline.

"He- he what?" Draco asked, feeling his voice go up several pitches. "He's out? So fast?"

"The Dementors are still partly on the Dark L- ...Voldemort's side," said Narcissa carefully. "But- that's not important- Draco, he's after _us_."

Draco snatched the article out of her hand.

_Interrogation of fellow prisoner, Rodolphus Lestrange, with whom Greyback had struck up a friendship and confided in, yielded the information that Greyback was at large and possibly after the Malfoy family, who are under house arrest and not in Azkaban due to actions taken during the Battle of Hogwarts by Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy. Greyback had repeatedly stressed that the Malfoys had betrayed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and, according to Lestrange, he was out to avenge that betrayal. This attitude was common among many of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's other followers, a.k.a. the Death Eaters._

"Mum, what did you do?" Draco asked for the third time.

Narcissa's lips went white when she pressed them together.

"Greyback won't get you," she said, tousling his hair and then combing it back into place. "He'll have to go through me first. And-"

"And me," said Lucius.

"Yes," said Narcissa, taking Lucius' hand. Draco made a face, but honestly, it was... nice. "We are a family."

Longbottom poked his head in and Draco quickly rearranged his features to a sneer and wished his mom wasn't stroking his hair.

"The wards on the house are really strong, actually," he said. "But we put our own on top. Shouldn't compromise yours, or that's what Hermione says anyway-"

"Still cheating off Granger, are you?" Draco asked. "If you're not competent by now, Longbottom, you really shouldn't be a Ministry agent."

"Hermione just knows the most," said Longbottom.

"Then shouldn't you be learning?"

"Please calm down," said Narcissa, and Draco understood why. The wards were being compromised, and his breath caught in his throat- so soon? But whoever it was had already been allowed in.

"It's Harry. He's coming to talk to you," said Longbottom.

"Is Potter going to come by every day?" Draco asked.

"Now, yeah," said Longbottom. "He'll stay all day now. Ron will be the one who checks up on us daily."

"Oh, whoop-de-doo," drawled Draco. "How lovely. The whole intrepid trio will be here. During the day. Because Fenrir Greyback is definitely going to attack during the daytime," Draco said. "I'm absolutely certain he's not going to wait until the full moon. What is he going to be doing, anyway? Potter, I mean."

"And there are some more people coming. I think you might know a few of them."

"Then I probably won't like them, considering all of my friends are dead or in jail, and whose fault is that?" Draco sneered at Potter, who walked into the room.

"Yours, for choosing bad friends," Potter said. "And you do know some of them. Liking, I don't know about."

"Oh, so people deserve to die because of their parents? Doesn't sound much like you, Potter."

"Nobody deserves to die, Malfoy. I never said that. And they should at least try to be better than their parents."

Draco scowled at him.

"Well, Potter, not all of us have heroes for parents."

"That should make it easier, then."

"Draco," said his mother softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Now is not the time. Harry Potter, I too happen to think your comments were out of line."

"Then I apologize," said Potter. He did not sound the least bit apologetic. "Wouldn't want you to feel at all uncomfortable about past actions, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Especially not complying with someone who tried to kill me and everyone I loved, every chance he got. Following him loyally, for years and years and not showing a shred of repentance. No, wouldn't want you to feel bad about that _at all_."

"How considerate of you," said Lucius coldly. "We'll remember that courtesy."

There was a long moment of silence where Potter's eyes flicked to each one of them, individually. They lingered on Draco's last. Draco found it hard to look Potter in the eye, especially as he was standing in the doorway, receiving all the light from the window across the room. It caused his pupils to shrink, and reflected off his irises. It was not an unpleasant sight. Harry Potter wasn't going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly, but he had been very popular for a reason, and that reason was probably the messy black hair and- Draco managed to derail that train of thought quickly, and moved on. But it was also like seeing a dog with its hackles raised (which, Draco realized after thinking for a moment, probably added to the allure). It was a very threatening glare, very proud and very powerful and very suiting to Potter.

Draco was proud that he could have truthfully told anyone that at that moment, no Malfoy wavered.

The door opened downstairs, with a loud bang that startled them all. People trailed in, their voices travelling up the stairs before they did. Draco noticed his father holding his wand and concentrating faintly.

"I believe those are your backup," said Narcissa.

"Yes, it is," said Potter. He was acting amiable again, but the room still hadn't returned to a truly comfortable air. "Thank you for letting them in, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be back later to tell you what's going on, as soon as I know myself."

He shut the door as he left.

"Draco, get dressed," said Lucius.

They shut the door behind themselves, too.

* * *

When Draco finally went downstairs, there were about three more people who had come to the house. All the current occupants of Malfoy Manor were sitting in the living room, and he was the last one to walk in. It was quiet, and they all stared at him.

He recognized some of the faces, scowled at a few of the more familiar, Gryffindor-ish ones, who scowled back, and found a chair and sat in it, glancing around at everyone, daring them to say anything. Anything at all about him or his family and that would be it- except he had no wand to hex them with.

As soon as he got his wand back, Potter would have to watch his back. Draco could wait.

"Morning, Draco. I expect you'll know some of our newer agents," said Luna cheerfully.

"Merlin's beard, not _more _Weasleys," said Draco, glancing around at the faces, and staring in particular at one who happened to have chosen Draco's favorite chair. Despite the scars criss-crossing his face, the freckles were still evident, and of course, that offensively bright red hair, in a long ponytail down his back. The Weasley in particular raised an eyebrow.

"Like the scars, Malfoy? Because your friend gave them to me the night Dumbledore died. He also gave me a peculiar taste for raw meat, a tendency towards a little more strength, and a hell of a grudge. Incidentally, this is the same friend that's out to get you right now. Still intending to drive me out of the house?"

Draco sneered at him.

_Bill Weasley_, some part of him supplied. _ Bill Weasley got attacked the night you brought Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts._

He hadn't meant to, and that same part of him that knew the name was desparately sorry. Fortunately, it was a very small part, and Draco liked to keep it locked up with the rest of the small, merciful parts of his brain.

"Look, he's gone all pale," said Luna, surprisingly not without concern. "The remedy for that is drinking a liter of rainwater with some crushed newt's eyes mixed in it. You really should try it, that'll drive out the-"

"I'm _not _trying that," said Draco, before they all got subjected to an explanation of some insane creature or another. "I prefer pale to violently ill any day."

"Look, normally I love watching verbal vitriol being spewed across a room, but right now I'm done with it," said one of the other three newcomers. Draco scowled at him. "Can we just get the not-niceties over with and then off to our actual jobs? The name is Dean Thomas, and I am unfortunately acquainted with Draco over there, but not his parents, so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and I will see you around. I'm patrolling outside, as are the rest of us, so you won't see much of us."

He stood up and left. The next one seemed to be particularly polite, and smiled. She was very pretty, with long honey-blonde hair and nice, friendly blue eyes. Draco recognized her the moment before she said her name- he ought to have known her, considering she was in the same year and house, but frankly he'd never spent much time around her. She'd kept to herself and away from Pansy's lot, which attested to her brains.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass. I believe you knew my father?" she asked. Lucius nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Greengrass."

She smiled, and excused herself to join Dean. Draco was hardly paying attention. He could almost hear his parents thinking, _Now there's a nice young pureblood girl for Draco to marry. Working for the Ministry under Harry Potter, even better. Good public relations skills, and brains to boot._

Her younger sister had been quite popular, he suddenly remembered. Draco had even considered the younger one for a while, because she was cute and friendly and had just enough brains to be able to pay bills if necessary. Daphne had always seemed a little too clever, though.

Oh, and there was the little fact that he didn't actually _like _girls.

But his parents didn't need to know that yet.

"Bill Weasley," the Weasley was introducing himself. "And, if you'll excuse me, I have some perimeter spells to cast with my group, so goodbye."

"I thought you already casted all the spells," said Draco.

"Some of them are a little more complicated than simply waving a wand and shouting some words," said Bill. "And your house is Unplottable, isn't it? But of course, Greyback's been here, so that's not much of a help. We're redoing that one. And we're trying to find him. Not all of the ones on Voldemort's side were rounded up, you know. There are still some out there- Mulciber, Travers..."

Narcissa visibly shuddered. Lucius put an arm around her.

"Never liked them, did you?" said Bill cheerfully. "'S all right. Me neither."

"Nasty people, they were," said Narcissa. "Had a real taste for torturing people. Right up there with Bellatrix, really." She laughed humorlessly.

Bill smiled. "If we can refrain from talking about her, I'm sure we can get along. Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy."

He exited as well, and very quickly.

"Mum," said Draco quietly, standing up and heading over to nudge her with an elbow. "Aunt Bella killed Bill's brother."

Narcissa clapped a hand over her mouth. "I had no idea!"

"He can hardly blame you," said Lucius.

Potter and Luna were whispering to themselves, and Draco caught words like "...going overboard..." and "...Dementors...".

"What about the Dementors, eh, Potter?" Draco called over, and received a nasty glare for the interruption.

"They're being removed from Azkaban, even as we speak," Potter said. "Kingsley decided they were a cruel and unusual punishment, and on top of that, they were failing."

"Too right," said Draco. "They're still on the Dark Lord's side. Can't seem to understand that he's dead, and lost the war. I don't know why you lot put them back in the first place."

"Funny," said Potter. "But that sounds like a few other people I know."

It fell silent, awkwardly so. Not that there were many silences that weren't awkward.

"Harry, we have work to do," Luna reminded him suddenly, and she left, hardly seeming to notice if he followed her to do their job together or not. After they had left the room and their footsteps were inaudible, Draco turned to his parents again.

"What do you want to bet there's something between those two?" said Draco conversationally. "Something... twisted, definitely."

His parents looked at him with concern.

"Please do not be so rude," Narcissa said. "They are our guests, Draco."

"They are our jailors, _Mum_."

"That does not mean we need to make them angry," said Lucius. "As a matter of fact, it means quite the opposite. Please, Draco, head to your room and stay out of their way. I believe we have gone past the do-not-make-enemies point."

"I passed that point with Potter the first week of first year," said Draco. "First day, even, before we ever got to Hogwarts. On the train."

Lucius sighed.

"Go to your room, Draco. It seems safe that you will not provoke anyone further from there."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"I am not three!" he snapped. "I will not be put in time-out!"

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Draco knew the reaction his parents would have. He could almost mouth the words along with his dad.

"If you are not three, then please refrain from acting like it. Go to your room, Draco."

But Draco was already out the door and on the first step of the stairs when he passed by the drawing room and saw a flash of movement, heard low, murmuring voices.

_Funny, no one ever goes into the drawing room_. It was where Lucius kept all his-

Draco crept back, listening around the edge of the entrace of the room.

"Harry, perhaps they've gotten rid of it all by now. And what use would they have for it? They say they're on our side." Granger, of course.

"They said that before, didn't they? I just want to- to check."

"This is just as mad as second year. Voldemort is dead, Harry."

"Look, I don't want to- I just want to make sure."

"You know he didn't make any more Horcruxes."

Horcrux? Draco had never heard that word before, and he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes to try to focus on the voices.

"I know."

"And if you wanted the Malfoys in Azkaban you'd've sent them there long ago. So why this?"

"I told you, Hermione. I just want to know."

"Then you should ask. We know it's here, but if you ask in such a way that they don't know that we know, and they tell us anyway, it's a big hint, isn't it? And if they show us, they probably don't have anything to hide."

"To hide? Hermione, it's a room full of Dark magic. Of course they'd want to hide it. I just want to know if there's anything worth hiding, is all."

"Harry, just ask. That's all I want you to do."

There was nothing from Harry. Draco realized why entirely too late.

"Hello, Malfoy," said Harry. "Fancy seeing you here."

Draco sneered at him.

"Tell me, Potter, what were you planning to do once the hexes we'd put up got you? And Granger, I imagine Weasley wouldn't like you so much once you'd been turned into a cockroach."

Granger made a _hmph__!_ noise. Potter just scowled.

"What did you want, anyway?" Draco continued, curious. They probably wouldn't tell him, he realized, but it was worth a try. "Mum and Dad are pretty dead-set on blending in. We're not planning on starting a revolt or anything. And we're definitely not on their side anymore."

"But you're not on our side, either," said Potter.

Draco scowled. "What do you people want? I pretended not to know who you were, at great personal peril, not that that got me anywhere in the end, but it's got to count for something, I mean, I could have redeemed my whole family with you lot. And my mum did something, I don't know what, but it was apparently enough to get us all out of Azkaban and mostly pardoned. We got off way easy, and I don't know why. But you don't trust us?"

Potter shrugged. Draco liked the way that his head tilted to one side, and he smiled wryly as though the answer was too easy. Which, Draco reflected, it really was.

"A wish to unite the wizarding world, those with Muggle blood and all. That's what it requires."

Draco felt a little stupid. "Fine, fine. Mudbloods and purebloods, we can coexist, it'll be grand. Do I get to hear the top secret information yet? Or at least why you're trying to get yourselves turned into cockroaches?"

Harry was still smiling that wry smile. "Not yet, Malfoy."

Draco had the sudden thought that if he helped Harry, it might be enough to get his wand back.

"Or," he said, "I could show you how to go down there. This is probably the kind of thing my dad would not appreciate me doing, no matter what side we're on. So, Potter, Granger, keep your grubby fingers off my dad's stuff."

Actually, Lucius would happily accept any chance for the Malfoys to prove their reformation and shorten their time under house arrest- not that they had anything to do after they were out. But it was the principle of the thing. And if the dynamic duo believed that Draco, whose wand Potter posessed, was doing them a favor...

Granger gave him a strange look. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. "What's in it for you?"

"I've turned over a new leaf," Draco said. "Honestly." And he had. He would turn over every leaf in a forest for Potter to give him back his wand. He'd felt so... defenseless since it was gone. Not to mention he would go mad if he couldn't leave the house for a year.

"Getting us turned into- what was it? Oh, right. Cockroaches. Getting us turned into cockroaches won't help your case any," said Potter.

"And then you'd get squished. So really, it's not a very bright idea to try it without me or any Malfoy."

"Only a Malfoy can get in, eh?" said Potter.

"Of course," said Draco. "But we can take whoever we want down with us."

Potter nodded. Draco walked around the room, feeling the floors and the walls. The drawing room was the grandest and largest room in the house. It had been the site of many a Death Eater gathering over the years, formal and recreational. Its walls were covered in portraits of old Malfoys, richly painted, all with terrible personalities. The giant rug, specially made for that particular room, depicted battles and all sorts of things that Draco had found were grand to reenact with toy soldiers when he was young. The portraits had found this rather irritating. He smiled at them now.

Finally, he found it, and pulled the lever behind an old vase. A loud creaking echoed through the room.

"Only a Malfoy would have been able to find it," he told them. "Tell me, where was the lever? You saw me pull it, didn't you?"

They gaped at him for a second. "I can't remember," Potter finally said. Draco nodded knowingly and pulled up the corner of the rug.

"You first," said Potter with mock grace.

Draco didn't argue, only went down the stairs. Lights flickered on, which should have only happened if Draco had his-

"Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Do you happen to have my wand with you?"

"Do you need a wand?"

"These lights wouldn't have turned on if I didn't have it in my presence at least. I could have turned them on manually, but with my wand it's a little easier."

Harry frowned. "Huh. Interesting."

"You've been carrying around my wand?!"

"Well, in the case of an attack, I think you'd need it."

They were almost to the bottom of the staircase now.

"Harry," said Granger, grabbing his arm. "You don't really think Fenrir Greyback can get in, do you?"

Draco shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chilly dampness of the unused cellar. He watched Potter, who didn't seem afraid, but didn't seem comfortable, either.

"I think," Potter said carefully, "that if nothing else, we need to be constantly vigilant, right?"

Granger stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. Draco rather thought it was an odd choice of words, and that there was absolutely nothing funny about the fact that Fenrir Greyback could be, at this very moment, making his way towards Malfoy Manor to avenge his prison time, even if it hardly made sense. He hadn't spent very long in prison, and the Malfoys could not be really blamed for the Dark Lord's defeat, and Greyback had never really been loyal, anyway. He'd just seen Voldemort as a political ally who he could work under and still further his own ideas.

So why? If he was smart, Greyback would want to stay out of everyone's way, building up an army to take on the Ministry, or something.

Draco's thoughts were cut off when something shrouded in a dark cloak lunged out of the darkness at him, screaming, "FAILURE, FAILURE!" in the voice of someone who should be very, very not anywhere near the mansion. Draco yelled and leapt back, heart racing

_it can't be it can't be not _him _how?!_

though it clung to him, hood covering its face. Hands clawed at him, yellow nails scratching at his skin, and he thought he might have seen fangs, screaming all the while. Granger shrieked, and Potter, after a very long moment, seemed to have a rare flash of insight and yelled "RIDDIKULUS!"

It shrank back wearing a vulture on a stuffed hat, and disappeared into what Draco knew to be a rather dangerous desk that apparently had no effect on it.

"A Boggart?" asked Granger.

Potter shrugged.

"It looked like a Dementor, but Dementors don't scream 'FAILURE, FAILURE!'."

"They get confused when there's more than one person," Draco realized aloud.

Granger nodded, having probably already come to this conclusion. "They combine everything..."

Draco nearly laughed. He probably would have. Granger was still afraid of failure, as Potter was still afraid of Dementors. He wondered if Potter or Granger had seen the face under the hood. But if they had, they didn't mention it. He refrained from being cruel, and hoped that if Potter and Granger were allowed to move on quickly enough, they would leave the subject well enough alone.

It probably wouldn't do well to let Harry Potter know that what he was most terrified of was good old Fenrir Greyback, who, if the Prophet was to be believed, was heading straight for Malfoy Manor at that very moment.

Draco did not believe the Prophet.

"Well, Potter, Granger," he said, turning around. "Welcome to the Malfoy family storeroom. Feel free to explore- but please do not touch, and do not unwrap things that are wrapped up. Sight is probably all that's required for some curses, and I have no idea how to explain it if one of you dies. Have fun. Hope you find what you're looking for, Potter. Whatever it is. Do I get to know yet?"

"Not unless I find it." Potter's voice was far off, and Draco checked to make sure he was still relatively safe and sound. He was, just in a distant corner.

Draco waited. And waited. Granger poked around, too. It was terribly creepy. Draco could feel the Dark magic all around him, and for some reason he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that hordes of spiders were, at the moment, crawling down his back. Yet they weren't. Draco shuddered, ignoring his heart- had it always beat so strongly in his chest?- and gave his back another scratch, just in case.

"Malfoy?" Potter called out. "Would you mind if Hermione and I brought some other people down here at another time?"

Draco shrugged.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Hermione, do you mind going? Or did you want a little more time to look?"

"I never wanted to look in the first place. Let's just get out of here."

And they did, Granger leading the way up the stairs with Draco's promise that it wouldn't hurt her.

"Harry, I have some more research to do for my make-up essays. I'll see you later." She touched his shoulder before leaving. He gave her a nod, but seemed to be studying Draco carefully.

Draco stood up straighter and looked him in the eye. His eyes were very, very green. For the second time that day, Draco reflected on the fact that Potter was easy to look at. Tall and thin, with just a hint of tortured hero about him, and glasses- not that, with Potter, they signified intelligence. And of course, he had that scar... which hadn't even been earned in brave battle.

Yes, any attraction Draco had was nullified by the fact that Potter was a total git.

"Yes, Potter?"

"You're very cooperative right now," said Potter, looking suspicious. "What do you want?"

"Is it so hard to believe that I've changed sides?" Draco asked, widening his eyes in the innocent-face that always worked on his mom.

"Yeah, actually."

Draco sighed. "Fine, Potter. I want my wand back."

"Not going to happen," said Potter instantly.

"What if something happens and you're not around to give it to me? You've been carrying it around, haven't you? Just in case?"

"You'll get it back when I decide you're ready for it. Can't have you expelling all of our agents."

Draco frowned at him, folding his arms, and then realized how petty that was, unfolded them and stood up straighter again. "When will I be ready for it, then?"

"When I say so. When you're not likely to expel people at random."

"Weasley deserved it! He started it!"

"He should not have been expelled."

Draco was outraged.

"Oh, so now we can be abused just because we're-"

"-Because you have, in the past, shown yourselves to be traitorous. You are under house arrest-"

"You're crazy! Completely power-crazy! We save you and- and- this is what we get?"

Draco couldn't even finish his sentence. They were in each other's faces now, entirely too close.

And Merlin's beard, but Potter had the most transparent face Draco had ever seen. Oh, he'd seen it before, at Hogwarts, but up close like this? Potter read like a _book. _ Draco never really understood that metaphor before, but it was right here in front of him now. It was absolutely fascinating. And right now, the power-crazy comment hit a button with Potter like no insult before ever had. Draco could see it, fierce, fiery anger, first in his eyes, and then slowly down all the way to his mouth, in a fantastically impressive sneer.

"I am _not _power-crazy," Potter snarled, his lip curling. "This is what you get for being stuck-up, prejudiced Death Eaters. You are not in Azkaban because your mother saved me."

"And I still don't even know the circumstances of that!" Draco yelled. "Will someone at least tell me what the he- Hello, Dad."

Lucius stood in the doorway, and looked very, very angry. Potter seemed just as surprised as Draco felt.

"Draco. What did I tell you-" He checked the clock. "-an hour or so ago?"

"To go to my room," Draco mumbled, all wrath now directed at his father. "But I didn't, because I caught Potter and Granger snooping around."

"Which is perfectly within their rights to do. Draco, go. Mr. Potter, I'm sorry you had to encounter that."

"No problem at all, Mr. Malfoy," said Harry, suddenly calm. But Draco thought, when he looked back briefly on his way out the door, that he could see something of that anger lingering in Potter's eyes.

* * *

To poppaea_sabina, whose question I really feel like I should answer except you never gave me an email address to send it back to: I'm really glad you love it! Yeah, Ron was pretty bad. D: Sorry, Ron. I actually really like him. I didn't mean to turn into a character-bashing moment. I think he'll redeem himself later. And I never thought of that! Of course Bellatrix would be very similar to Sirius, especially before Azkaban screwed them up- and I think we can guess that they handled it differently. Sirius grew resentful, while Bellatrix cultivated a sense of self-righteousness. Except for his Gryffindor bravado and beliefs, she was probably just as mean. And so was Draco! Except I can see where JKR wouldn't like Draco. Heck, half the time I don't like him (and the other half I love love love him and his snarky with and silvery hair and cruel grey eyes, but that's beside the point). Draco uses his snark for evil. :( He's also just all talk, unlike Sirius, who is probably a little too much action and not enough snark (for me).

And yes. Ron, Neville, and Draco are related, though I don't think they're quite cousins. Sirius is Arthur's cousin twice removed or something like that, which would make Ron... Something to him (second cousin thrice removed?), and if Draco is Sirius' cousin once removed... Something else. Yikes. The Black family tree is out there, if you're very curious, though. :D

And then I have no idea about Neville.

Oh and I changed that bit about where Draco notices Harry's scar is gone, because, uh, I was wrong. Harry still has his scar after the final battle. D: Lolwhoops.


	5. Draco Fails To Be Charming

It was quickly becoming a ritual for the Malfoys to spend their evenings in the common room after dinner, where the fire was, so when a particularly chilly night came a week after the debacle in the drawing room, most of the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor followed Draco and his parents.

An owl tapped at the window. Lucius let it in, and it flew to Potter, who opened it.

"They've set up the security at Azkaban," he said, folding it up and pocketing it. "They're rounding up the Dementors, but some escaped. It's just a warning to be on the lookout."

"Where are they putting them?" asked Lucius, with a little more urgency than a normal person might have used even under the circumstances. "How many escaped?" Potter shrugged.

"I don't know. I wish I did, though."

"Hm."

"I heard it was South America," said Bill cheerfully. "Far from Britain, at least."

"And if the number that had escaped was more than, say, 10, there'd probably be a lot more worry surrounding it," said Potter.

"That's good," said Lucius in a distant voice, and Draco suddenly realized he'd never talked to his father about his experiences in Azkaban. True, the Dementors would have been gone, but from all that Draco knew of magic, he could guess that the feel of the Dementors, the years and years' worth of despair that they had caused, would have lingered there even when the Dementors themselves were not there to steal the hope and cause it directly. What had his father relived? Draco thought that most likely, he would never know.

And Draco too had felt the direct influence of the Dementors, but that was when he had been much, much younger. He knew that if he was to face one now, the despair would be much more than it had been back then- what terrible things had happened to him before he was thirteen? Perhaps he'd been sent to his room, or denied a toy. Perhaps he'd been jealous of a more famous classmate (one Harry Potter instantly came to mind). Truly horrible for the boy he had been, but now?

Granger snuggled (Draco was disgusted at the very thought, but really there was no other word for it) closer to Weasley on the loveseat, and Draco stared into the fire.

He'd never learned to make a Patronus, but Potter and company had. It wasn't much of a worry- he doubted he'd ever come across one, and if he did, it would be at least eleven months from now, considering that it was unlikely at best that a Dementor could find him in the house alone and wandless. He doubted that he'd find it necessary to learn, and yet...

Well, he didn't _really _want his soul sucked out. And Patronuses had a lot more uses. He'd seen the ones that the Order had _talking, _and it was impressive magic. He'd even seen Potter do it once in the previous week to send a message.

And, all right, if nothing else, Draco was jealous that Potter knew how to do something impressive that he didn't.

Draco rather felt that it was time to learn. He needed something to do, of course, for the next year or so. A goal. Potter had learned by the middle of third year. Draco could not beat that, but he certainly could rival it.

He would ask someone at the first opportunity. Perhaps his dad or his mum would know. Unfortunately, he no longer had his wand, and he could not get it back from Potter until Potter decided he was worthy of it.

But, in the meantime, he could research the theory. Perhaps if he did, he'd even get it faster than Potter had, and that was a thought that made him smile.

* * *

Fenrir Greyback liked the fact that he could step into his old favorite werewolf pub two weeks past his escape from Azkaban, and walk right past all the wanted posters of himself, step up to the bar, and be greeted with, "The usual, Fenrir?"

He smiled.

"Yeah."

The bartender, Edward, pushed the drink to him.

"Oh, and there's a bloke near the back who's been hanging around, trying to find you for a while. Nearly got attacked the first night he came. Not one of us. But when he said he was looking for you... Well, we figured you wouldn't want us to eat one of your friends."

"Right you were," said Fenrir, turning to the back to see if he could find a face under the hood. The build was that of someone stocky and tall. Familiar, but it could have meant many of the Death Eaters. "Thanks, Ed. See you 'round."

Fenrir took his drink to the back, unable to determine who the man might have been- he could at least tell that it was a man.

"Hello," he said, feeling quite cheerful.

"Fenrir," greeted the man in a low, growling sort of voice. Fenrir knew that voice-

Mulciber, he realized, when the man flipped up his hood to reveal his face.

"I hear you've been looking for me. Good job on escaping the Ministry, by the way."

"Congratulations on your escape from Azkaban, too. I've been looking to talk to you about this," said Mulciber, and Fenrir watched as he pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from several weeks ago.

"Oh, that was Rodolphus," said Fenrir. "I didn't really want to go after the Malfoys. Not that I wouldn't try to eat the young one if I could. He looked... tender."

Fenrir found himself smiling at the memory of the trembling seventeen-year-old. How precious he had been, never having faced real danger once in his life. A little too old for Fenrir's normal taste, but Fenrir would happily eat a sheltered older kid over a tough young street kid.

Those were the best kind, after all.

And even better if he could change them. Mummies and daddies hardly even wanted to look at their children sometimes after Fenrir was done.

"Oh," said Mulciber, looking disappointed.

"Were you going to go after them?" asked Fenrir.

Mulciber nodded.

"If it wasn't for them, the Dark Lord would still be alive. You don't care?"

Fenrir suddenly realized he ought to tread carefully here.

Of course, even when that fact had been brought to his attention, he had ignored it.

"No," he said, smiling. Mulciber's wand was out in a moment.

"Treason!" he hissed.

"I never was part of his Death Eaters," Fenrir said, enjoying the way that Mulciber's face went red and veins bulged from his temples in his anger. If he tried anything, the blood would only flow that much faster from his throat. But that enjoyment faded as Fenrir explained himself to Mulciber. "They were simply a means to my end- namely, avenging my kind on wizards who have ostracized us, treated us like scum, for something that we cannot help! Don't deny it, even _you _look at me that way. And the Dark Lord- he was one of the worst of all. But he promised good things, and for that I was loyal. For no other reason."

Fenrir laid his hand on the table, and watched Mulciber consider it carefully, all the way down to the long clawlike nails at the end. Whereas before, his wand had been directed at Fenrir, now his arm retreated, and he sank back, seeming to calm down.

"I had thought you might feel that way," said Mulciber. "I will not deny I thought it was odd that you, of all people, would want revenge. You never struck me as the type..."

"You judged me well, friend," said Fenrir, happy that the conversation had taken a more amicable turn. "I wish you well with your attempts. If you wouldn't mind, perhaps you can save the boy for me."

"I'm not done," said Mulciber. "I wanted to show you something else."

Fenrir raised his eyebrows. "There is very little that could persuade me to join you in your attempt. It is, after all, suicidal. Do you realize the protection they're probably under now that Rodolphus' wishes were published in the _Prophet_?"

"There are others," said Mulciber. "Ones who feel betrayed. _Powerful _witches and wizards. And if you can rally the werewolves, we will have quite the army."

"So," said Fenrir. "Why should I be interested?"

Mulciber felt around in his cloak for a moment, in a most amusing fashion, Fenrir thought. Eventually, he pulled out a vial full of silvery liquid.

"A memory," said Mulciber, "of a particular moment. It would have been a bribe had you not done what the Dark Lord asked. We did not have to resort to it, because you were quite compliant. But I would imagine the object in question is still in Lucius' possession."

"Wait, I would have gotten something if I didn't do what the Dark Lord asked?" Fenrir said, outraged.

Mulciber shrugged. Fenrir thought it would have been much better if he hadn't known that.

"I was made to believe that death, not bribery was my other option!"

"That's how the Dark Lord operated," Mulciber said. "If you had refused... Well, he really wanted the werewolves."

"So, what is it?"

"It's explained in the memory," Mulciber said. "It's a bit easier that way. I was never any good at explaining things, and memories, in that form, are impossibly hard to tamper with. You can, I trust, gain access to a Pensieve?"

"Yes," said Fenrir. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm in it for revenge," said Mulciber. "And, as you said, it's highly suicidal. But I don't care. If I can die avenging the Dark Lord, it is a better death than languishing away in prison, as some of my colleagues are presently doing."

Fenrir had never liked fanaticism centered around a single person, believing it to be a rather useless thing. If you were a fanatic of a belief, a concept- beliefs and concepts lasted far longer than anything else on this wretched place, and could be noble. Those who personality cults were centered around were hardly ever noble or worth following. Fenrir had worked very hard to make sure his werewolves were not in his personality cult, but fighting against prejudices- a noble ideal.

But, if what Mulciber said was true, and this was an object he would want, Fenrir had never had a problem with _using _people in personality cults.

"I'll look into it this week," promised Fenrir. "How do I contact you?"

"Meet me back here next Saturday night," said Mulciber, flipping his hood up again. "Even if you haven't looked at it. At least tell me."

Fenrir nodded.

"Goodbye," said Mulciber.

"Good luck," said Fenrir.

"Same to you."

He exited, and Fenrir went back to the bar for another drink.

"Old friend?" Ed inquired.

Fenrir nodded. "Colleague, really."

Ed nodded understandingly.

"So... we were right not to kill him?"

Fenrir smiled. "Yes. And if he comes back, don't kill him then, either."

Ed sighed. "Well, if you say so."

"Thanks," said Fenrir, and left the bar, wondering where on earth he would find a Pensieve within a week.

* * *

Draco found himself unable to sleep that night.

At midnight or so, he finally stood up, put on a shirt, and headed up to the library. Surely, even in all the Dark texts the Malfoy book collection had, there must be some mention of the Patronus.

The castle was dark, and Draco shushed the portraits that would have awakened his parents. They scowled at him, and he stuck his tongue out.

"How immature," scoffed one.

"Immaturity is dying at age 45 because you fell off a _toy _broomstick," Draco told the portrait. "You didn't even have kids for an excuse."

Well, it was _true_.

He walked right past all the nearby portraits' shocked gasps, while Circinus Black (nee Malfoy) comforted her husband.

"It's all right, Canis, dear, it was a silly mistake, and it hardly matters now..."

Draco continued up the stairs, and entered the library. The lights were on, which irritated him. Surely Granger should have been smart enough to turn them off-

That is, if she had left the library at all. Which, unless a bird had decided to build a particularly large and ugly brown nest on an open book in another corner, she had clearly not done. Draco made sure to walk more quietly, and was momentarily grateful for the warm socks he had chosen to wear, which muffled the sound of his feet on the floors quite effectively.

He perused the bookshelves, making his way up and down the long walls which were absolutely covered in books, and finally upon seeing an absolutely ancient copy of Dementors: A Studie of The Darkeste Beasties, Draco reached up to pull it off the end of a shelf, all the while keeping an eye on Granger. While he was opening it up to see if the table of contents would give him an idea, the law of gravity kicked in and the other books on the shelf fell over with a _fwump_.

Granger's head instantly shot up, looking around wild-eyed. Draco was so startled he dropped the book, which promptly groaned at him. At the same moment, she shrieked, "I'm wide awake, Ron! I'm going to bed soon!" Draco scooped the book up, apologized in case it really was sentient, and pushed the ones on the shelf back in place.

"Shut up," he hissed. "You'll wake someone." But she had already come to her senses.

"Malfoy?" she asked.

"Yes," he said stiffly, suddenly realizing he had no idea how to explain himself.

She blinked at him, awake and aware of her surroundings but confused. "What are you doing? What time is it?"

"Half past midnight," he said.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask the same thing of you," he said, sneering slightly.

"I was sleeping," she said, frowning at him.

Draco suddenly remembered that he had been civil to Granger before, and probably should continue. He changed tactics, and took a deep breath, forcing back the slightly nauseous feeling that accompanied kindness to Mudbloods. Not that he'd ever actually done such a thing before. But it was necessary.

Smiling would be too much, too fast, so he simply moved forward to her table and took a seat, closing the gap between them. All the better to keep their voices down, as he did not want to explain what would look like a midnight tryst in the library with Granger.

"That can't have been comfortable," he observed, turning the Malfoy charms he had learned from his father on a Mudblood. Oh, the irony. "You should be grateful that I woke you up."

She looked unsure of him, and the hand that was on the table- her right hand, he noticed- twitched a little bit, as though she was trying not to go for her wand.

"Relax," he said, taking a seat in a chair at that table. "And to answer your question, I'm here for the same thing you are. Research. It's what a library is for, in case you'd forgotten."

She looked grumpy, with a very similar expression to the one his mother and, as he had discovered over the years, Pansy, wore when woken unexpectedly. The similarity was uncanny, and he nearly laughed- of course both Pansy and his mother were much better than Granger, of course. Much more high-class.

"And what do _you _need to research?" she asked. "Ways to Irritate Everyone Around You? Torture for Dummies?"

"Oh, no," said Draco, feeling a genuinely cheerful smile form on his face. "I've got those down to a science. I could _write _the book."

Her frown shifted a little bit, as though she didn't want to smile, but the urge was too strong.

"So..." she said, suddenly taking a closer look at the book in his hands to read its title. The weird frown-smile faded, and she pushed her hair out of her face, all business. "Dementors? Why?"

"I'm brushing up on my Early Modern English," said Draco.

"You aren't worried, are you?" she asked, looking at him with much the same look as she had given the book. "I think you'll be fine."

"Yes," said Draco. "I will."

"All of us can produce Patronuses, and there are more than enough of us to protect you in the event that a Dementor- and I doubt even more than one would ever show up at once, too much competition for food if otherwise- in the event that a Dementor shows up."

She studied him carefully, her eyes jumping from the words on the book to his face in sudden, jerky movements.

Draco had misjudged her. She really was something of a pretty girl- or maybe she had just grown up in the year that she'd spent on the run.

She shut her own book.

"So what did you want to know about Dementors, anyway?" she asked. "Believe me, in fifth year when Harry was teaching us Patronuses I read a ton of stuff about Dementors. Have you ever personally faced one? Of course that's the best way to know, but it never hurts to be well-informed technically on a subject."

"Why so interested in what I'm researching?" he asked.

She gestured at her book, snapping it shut around a slip of parchment and showing him the spine. It was written in very tiny letters, because the title was too long for the stumpy book.

_Advancements in Tactical Magic During the Goblin Wars of the Fourth Century_.

Draco winced.

"Makeup work for History of Magic," she explained, raising an eyebrow at him in a knowing way. She smirked a little bit. "Why do you think I was asleep?"

Merlin's beard, the girl even had a sense of humor. Why had he not known this at Hogwarts?

"I suppose when you've bargained with goblins extensively in the present day their exploits in the past seem irrelevant," Draco said.

It was growing easier to be charming, and though he had done it before with Pansy on occasion, it was different with Granger. Trickier. Probably because she was a Mudblood.

_Or_, the thought came,_ it's because she has a brain_.

"You heard about us and Griphook, I suppose?" she asked, surprised. "Well, that was mostly Harry. And it wasn't really extensively, it was more like we made one deal and, well, it was Harry."

"I've heard rumors," Draco confirmed. "You were there."

"Well, it just goes to show you," she said. "It's really all about experience. If I learned anything over the last year, it's... well, that."

She shrugged, and he nodded. She glared at him, suddenly.

"If you want something, just ask. No need to play nice. It isn't you."

"Aww, Granger, you shouldn't think so low of me," he said, affecting a hurt expression.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. Draco froze, unsure. "You only cruelly teased me and many other people for six years, attempted to murder several people, including my friends and me, and followed the orders of a man who literally put me and my friends on a wanted list with a bounty for our heads. You don't deserve to be treated poorly_ at all_."

"I've changed," said Draco, and not without sincerity. He had. He was trying not to antagonize people. Specifically her. For now. "And you sound just like Potter. I swear he said the exact same thing just the other day."

"I bet," she said darkly, opening up her book again and focusing on it, putting it in front of her face so he couldn't see her. "If you need something from us, just ask... But that isn't a guarantee."

Draco opened up his book, and found a chapter with a promising title.

_To Defend Thyself Against A Dementor._

They read in silence for a while. Draco had to decipher Early Modern English, so he focused very carefully, especially upon promising paragraphs. Unfortunately, most of it was theory. There was, however, one very definitive section on the actual casting of the spell, with a little picture of the wand motions needed beside it.

_To caſt the Patronus, thy thoughts muſt reſt vpon thine moſt joyous experiences, recite the incauntation, and immediately thereafter, the Patronus will appear. The incantationne is EXPECTO PATRONUM, and when performed properly, the Patronus will take the form of a beaſtie close to the heart or ſoulle of the wizard. Dementors will hide, fleeing from the Patronus, for it is the very oppoſite of what they are. It is happineſs, and ſafety, whereas they are Darkneſs, and death._

He understood the idea- a happy memory, Expecto Patronum, wave the wand a little bit (he quickly memorized the hand motions, they weren't hard, necessarily), and then... Patronus. So why was it so complicated? He put down the book, having developed a slight headache, but satisfied with the answers he had gotten.

"Well, Granger," he said, closing his book. "I am off to bed, because I am not insane and it is two in the morning."

He heard nothing, and peered over the edge of her book, which was still propped up in front of her face... which had fallen onto the table when she'd succumbed to exhaustion.

This gave him two options: wake her up, or... leave her there.

Well, she did deserve it, he decided, as he tugged the book gently out of her hands. She was a Mudblood, and a know-it-all, and she should have gone to bed if she wanted to sleep. He put the book on the shelf, and quietly headed back upstairs to his room, where he mentally reviewed the wand motions for a Patronus until he fell asleep.

* * *

Fenrir Greyback finally had a wand (or rather, two, but the second would come in handy if he ever lost the first) and a Pensieve.

However, there were also two corpses to account for, but hey. If they hadn't put up a fight and just let him in...

Well, whatever. Nobody would notice until tomorrow when they didn't show up at the Ministry for work, and by then, Fenrir would be gone. Very, very far away, though he'd left a couple of clues behind to save the nice Ministry agents some trouble. Things like hair and such.

He tapped the end of the little vial, and the memories poured out, making pretty patterns in the clear Pensieve liquid. He swirled them around a bit, enjoying the way that the black swirled in inky clouds, and finally, taking a deep breath- it had been a long time since he'd used one of these- he plunged his face in.

He knew where he was instantly. He had been there many times before, recognized the grubby little counter and the grubby little man behind it, counting money. Fenrir even recognized the little smile on the man's face as he counted Galleons. Borgin and Burke's, one-stop shopping for all your Dark needs.

Lucius Malfoy stood beside Mulciber, in front of the counter.

"It is said that you have a Therianthros," said Malfoy. "I will pay you any price for it."

Fenrir knew that word.

It was rare werewolf lore that there were Dark objects able to allow a man to keep his mind during the transformation, much more easily than any potion could. Fenrir had never been fond of potions, never trusted that Severus Snape as far as he could throw him (instinct, pure instinct, and look how right it was in the end), and yet... the idea of keeping his mind when he transformed, being able to know what to do in his wolf form, to plan... This was something he had always wanted, but had never been able to let go enough to take a potion to achieve it.

He crept closer to Mulciber and Malfoy, as Borgin disappeared into the back gleefully.

"You don't suppose it's not real?" asked Mulciber. Malfoy scowled at him.

"Borgin is not a fool. He would not dare to tarnish the reputation of his shop with something false."

Borgin returned, carrying a small box and handing it to Malfoy, who opened it. Malfoy remained unaware that a spectator was leaning literally on his shoulder to peer at the plain golden medallion, which looked as impeccable as if it had been molded into shape the day before, and yet gave off the air associated with ancient Dark magic.

Malfoy snapped the box shut, and proceeded to haggle with Borgin. Fenrir stopped watching the memory there, because it got rather boring. He wanted to talk to Mulciber _now_.

When he returned to the real physical world, he smeared a couple more bloodstains over the walls, and, just because he could, wrote in very large letters:

_FENRIR GREYBACK SENDS HIS GREETINGS_

* * *

Circinus is the name of a galaxy. The name comes from the Latin word for compass, lame, I know, but it kinda sounded like a good name, so... I went with it. Canis Major is a constellation, and for those of you like me who either did not pay attention to the Latin roots in the name or forgot, and it contains... wait for it... the Dog Star, Sirius.

Bwahahaha I'm not funny.

By the way, I don't think it's character-bashing to portray Pansy Parkinson as absolutely brainless. She is the stereotypical mean-girl, she's meant to be a bully and obnoxious, and all right I just hate her because I got made fun of for having bushy hair, too. -yougottabelievemeI'mtryingreallyhardtoavoidHermioneSue- Maybe I'll make it up to her someday and pair her with Draco.

Nahhhh.

Oh, and I totally went nutso over the Early Modern English portion. I'm not even joking. I can't fake stuff like that, so I went to Wikipedia and basically rewrote an entire paragraph to fit those standards for spelling and stuff. And yeah, "vpon" is not a typo. Neither are the funky little f's without the cross thingy. I know. I'm really weird. But I wanted it to be obnoxiously hard to read! But I really do hope I'm the only one ftarting to fay words in mine head like this. Forry if you are, too.

Therianthropy is when humans change into animals. So, this object doesn't just apply to werewolves- for instance if you were to Transfigure a person into a bunnyrabbit and put this on them, they would retain their human minds. However, Animagi will always retain their human minds (unless Transfigured) so this isn't necessary for them. Got it? Yay.


	6. What Kind Of Power Is Love, Anyway

Oh my God! It's been like, two years!

I missed Draco/Harry. It's such a fun pairing.

Hope those of you going to the midnight showing tonight have a ton of fun! I'll be there. :D

* * *

Draco spent a lot of time over the next few days thinking about his happiest memories. It got to be too much to stay in his own room, so he picked random rooms that were difficult to find, in order to avoid the attention of his jailers.

He had a list going.

First on it was the time that Lucius had bought the broomsticks for the entire Quidditch team, and Draco had been Seeker. He'd walked on air for the days after that, and been positively thrilled... Gryffindor was going to be _trounced_ that year. Of course, they hadn't, because the competition had been cancelled.

So when he got his wand back, he'd try that one.

But he didn't think it was his happiest memory. So he tried to think of a few others.

He thought of the moment when he'd gotten his first broomstick, a toy one at the age of four, and even then, it had been glorious. He thought of his parent's proud letter when he'd been sorted into Slytherin... the moment he'd put the hat on his head and it had just _known_, instantly. The moment just before the Dark Mark was put on his arm, and he'd felt so mature, so important.

That had been quickly soured by the reality of the situation... so perhaps not. No, nothing beyond 6th year had been anything he'd qualify as the "happiest moment of his life."

At this moment in his recollections, he was interrupted by Luna. He covered up the scroll he was writing the list on, and glared at her.

"Hello, Draco," she said, quite pleasantly, or he would have found it pleasant if he'd liked her at all. "I've never seen this room before. Oh! You're working on something."

"Yes," said Draco, "and I would appreciate it if you'd leave."

"Are you quite sure you don't need help?" asked Luna, pale face inquisitive and open. "I'm terribly good at crossword puzzles and things like that."

"It's not a crossword puzzle," said Draco.

"Oh," said Luna, looking quite perplexed, "then what is it? It's not a plan for escaping, is it? Because that would be terribly silly of you."

"It's not an escape route," said Draco. "But I need peace and quiet."

"All right," said Luna cheerfully. "Then I'll leave you. Good luck. Don't let the Cross-Eyed Tiddlybugs bite."

"Er... thanks," said Draco, too surprised to think of something sarcastic to say, and she was gone.

He stared at his half-blank scroll for a few more minutes, then balled it up and threw it at the wall, storming out of the room.

* * *

"Mum," he asked one evening, as it got dark outside, "do you know how to cast a Patronus?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, and looked up from her torrid romance novel. Something ridiculous, Draco had only been staring at the back of it for half an hour now. It was either that or the steadily darkening clouds outside, and he found that looking outside at night these days tended to have unpleasant effects on his already-easily-rattled composure. The slightest movement made him jump, convinced as he was that Greyback was just around the corner.

"Good heavens, of course not! Terribly advanced magic."

"Potter can do it," he reminded her. "What about you, Dad?"

"I never did learn," said Lucius. "But I expect, with the Dementors running loose these days, it's a skill we'll all have to take up. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of trying it?"

Draco reflected for a moment over whether or not to tell them the truth.

"Yes," he declared.

"You don't have your wand," his mother reminded him.

"But I'm going to get it back someday."

"Not if you keep behaving poorly," said Lucius. "But I do support your ambition. Perhaps you ought to take it up with Potter."

"Not a chance," said Draco. "I'm not asking him for anything."

Narcissa frowned at him over her reading glasses.

"Darling," she said, "the easiest way to get in the good graces of a hero like Potter is to ask for his or her help. That _is_ how I met your father, you know."

Lucius smiled.

"Narcissa, that's not entirely relevant. You knew all along how to cast a proper stain-removing charm. Draco has never attempted anything nearly so difficult as a Patronus."

"The situation proceeded as if I hadn't known," said Narcissa. "And you didn't know the truth until years later. It's perfectly relevant."

"Mu-_um_," whined Draco, "I'm not looking for a husband. I'm trying to retain my pride."

Narcissa smiled.

"And yet, you took Potter and friends down to the room under the drawing room. Draco, I think you understand that your pride would best be satisfied by getting into their good graces as soon as possible. Asking for help will do just that, I believe, with these people. Doubly so with a Patronus charm, as there are no Dark uses for it whatsoever."

"In fact," said Lucius, "I'm quite proud of you for even wanting to learn to do it. Very smart move, Draco. In fact, as your mother has explained, it could be a ticket to better conditions for all of us. Yes," he added thoughtfully, "I do believe if you do things properly, it could be a very cunning move."

Draco wished he hadn't told them, because now he would really have to do it. And now he felt like he was going to be doing some quality arse-kissing.

On the other hand... they were right. And he would have learned how to do a Patronus.

Yes, he decided, the ends justified the means.

* * *

"Potter," he said, unable to keep a sneering note out of his voice (it was a reflex after seven years, really), "I want to learn how to create a Patronus."

Potter glanced at him, away from where he was using the library table to do some makeup work of his own, or at least Draco had heard that was what he was doing from an overheard conversation between Granger and Potter.

"Why would _you_ want to learn how to do a Patronus?"

"Oh please," said Draco, "save the act. Granger's already told you, hasn't she? She found me doing research the other night. Or rather, I found her."

Potter smirked a little.

"I heard a bit of the story," he acknowledged, shutting the book that he was reading and setting it back neatly onto the shelf. "Heard you're scared that the Dementors are loose."

"Reasonably alarmed," said Draco.

"Fair enough," agreed Potter, leaning back in his chair. "But, tell me, this isn't just some kind of ploy to get your wand back?"

"I'll let you keep it, except for our training sessions," said Draco immediately, having thought all of this out. "But yes, I want it back in my hands."

Always best to acknowledge the truth, he decided, since it would make him appear a little more trustworthy.

Not that he wasn't being trustworthy, right now. Draco was possibly being the most honest he'd ever been in his life.

"And... what do I get in return?" asked Potter, which Draco had also anticipated.

"I'll pay you," he offered, having haggled out a sum with his parents, although they really hadn't minded much. Money was something that a Malfoy would never have to work for, at least not unless something terrible happened to their vaults at Gringotts. Status, on the other hand, seemed to be coming with rather more difficulty these days.

"I don't need your money."

Potter smiled coolly.

There was a moment of silence, during which Draco tried to think of something that he could offer Potter.

"All right," said Draco, taking the bait. "What do you want?"

"More trips down to the room under the drawing room," said Potter. "I want to be able to catalogue _everything_ that's down there. The Ministry would also probably appreciate taking it off your hands. I'd offer to pay you for it, but seeing as how we know it's here now and can therefore legally come in with a warrant and confiscate it all, I think it'd be best if you gave it up willingly."

Draco cringed inwardly. Lucius was _not_ going to like that.

"You'll have to take that up with my dad," he said. "But I'll see what I can do."

"That's not a promise," said Potter. "I don't want you weaseling your way out of this one, Malfoy."

Draco shut his eyes.

"I promise," he said. "Even if my dad doesn't like it, he'll do it, because he won't like you coming in with a warrant."

"Excellent," said Potter. "We'll be back in a week with a team of Aurors to handle that."

He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out Draco's wand, tossing it to him. Draco caught it easily, like the wand had just leapt into his hand. Like it had wanted to be back there, like it knew it belonged. Draco smiled at the feeling.

"Thank you," he said curtly.

"First lesson," said Potter, "since you already know the technical basis, let's see what you can do. A happy memory, right?"

"Right," said Draco.

"Then, go on," said Potter. "Just try it."

Draco closed his eyes, thinking of the faces of the other Quidditch team members, the glee they'd all felt. The laughing and the camaraderie, the way they'd all appreciated Draco after that, even though he was much younger and smaller.

"Expecto Patronum!" he said, waving the wand.

Nothing whatsoever happened. He lowered the wand, feeling stupid.

Not even a puff of smoke.

Potter frowned.

"Don't be discouraged," he said, not unkindly, and Draco was struck by how much like a teacher he suddenly sounded. "It's very difficult, and usually it doesn't happen on the first try. I was really desperate, third year, and even then, it took me a while to get it. Months of practice. The Dementors... well, _you_ remember," he added bitterly.

Yes, Draco did, he remembered putting on extra-long robes and climbing up on Goyle's shoulders, laughing all the while about what a wuss Potter was. How the Dementors really weren't that scary, just sort of off-putting but it was temporary and it was easily shaken off afterwards. And then, of course, there had been last year, and the despair he'd felt. He'd met a Dementor during the Battle of Hogwarts, and then he understood.

God, how young he'd been.

If Draco was a nicer person, he reflected, he'd apologize. He'd tell Potter that he hadn't really understood the horror that the Dementors inspired, he hadn't known true fear. If Draco was inclined to bear his soul.

As it was, he wasn't, and he pretended that he hadn't heard Potter's last comment.

"Expecto Patronum!" he tried again, louder this time and a little more forcefully. He thought of Marcus Flint, and how he'd looked so happy on his new broomstick, so much nicer than the ridiculously old broom that had been the only thing his family was able to afford (being of the less fortunate group of purebloods who hadn't fared so well after the War).

"Have you got a really happy memory?" asked Potter. "Like, really, really happy, like a time you felt like you were going to burst from the happiness of it?"

"Yes," said Draco testily.

"Have you got another you can try?"

"I suppose," said Draco, although he wasn't sure if he'd ever been happier than he had been that day.

"If it helps," said Potter, "it's about love, really."

"My God," said Draco, "that is the sappiest thing I have ever heard. Just the sort of thing you'd come up with."

Potter stuck firmly to his metaphorical stance.

"Your Patronus is love made physical, protecting you," he said, seriously, looking Draco right in the eyes, and Draco wanted to laugh at the sentimentality of it. But he really couldn't, not when Potter obviously took it so much to heart. "That's all it is. People say it's happy memories that make it, but that's not _really_ true. What I've found is that often what helps is a time that you felt really loved. Did you know that falling in love can change someone's Patronus?"

"No," said Draco, no longer wanting to laugh and instead sort of stunned that Potter had given it this much thought.

"I've taught the charm to a lot of people," Potter said. "So just... keep that in mind. Who do you love the most?"

Draco wondered.

* * *

The lesson ended shortly after that, with Draco trying every happy memory he could think of and not coming up with one. Literally nothing happened. Potter even demonstrated a Patronus, and it really had been quite a sight to behold. No wonder it was so impressive. Potter's stag cantered around the room several times, then faded into mist. It was proud and it was majestic. Draco really could see its resemblance to Potter.

Not that he'd ever tell _Potter_ that.

"Think about it," Potter had said. "It doesn't have to be the happiest day of your life. Hand over the wand."

God, Draco had been reluctant to give it up. But he had, with the renewed promise of getting Potter into the drawing room again.

He had to warn his dad first.

"Dad," he said, "since the Ministry knows about the room under the drawing room, Potter asked in return for giving me Patronus lessons that I show him around it some more. And also possibly let the Ministry in to confiscate the stuff."

Lucius sighed.

"It was going to happen anyway, at least we don't have to pay the boy to give him lessons." Narcissa tried to comfort Lucius. He nodded.

"Actually, it's probably better this way. Good job, Draco."

So that turned out well, Draco thought. It was funny these days, dealing with his parents. Things that would have made them furious before were things that they were now resigned to, or viewed as good political strategy.

Draco still didn't like it, but he was getting used to it, in the end. Which was the worst thing of all.

* * *

Family dinners, of course, also included the family jailers now, which had gotten less awkward.

"Mrs. Malfoy," said Granger proudly, "cooked the meat all by herself tonight. Without any help whatsoever from me."

Narcissa preened, setting the platter down on the table and taking off her apron in a rather dramatic manner that involved tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"It was nothing," she said coyly. "Couldn't possibly have done it without Hermione teaching me."

Lucius glanced at it.

"It looks lovely, Cissy," he said, kissing her on the cheek.

"Mum," hissed Draco, when the rest of the jailers had gone to the kitchen to help bring the rest of the dishes in, "you can't possibly be befriending the Mudblood."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him.

"Draco," she hissed back, "what have your father and I told you about using that word? And really, I never thought I'd say this, but she is a lovely girl. Have you ever thought about cementing your new status as a non-prejudiced forward thinker? Because I really could agree to her, if you decided on going that route with your life."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"Just kidding," she said. "Although not about the lovely girl part. Why, Hermione knows more about practically every magical subject than anyone I've ever met, and she's quite willing to help me out with all of the silly practical things that I've never learned how to do. And she taught me how to do a terrific Hair-Highlights Hex. See, you'd never know I hadn't spent the entire summer out on the beach."

He glanced at her hair, which really did look naturally highlighted. People began to file back into the room with the other dishes, painstakingly prepared by Granger and Narcissa, as that was all that she and Narcissa really had to do these days. Sometimes, Longbottom helped, but more often than not, he was off being a disaster in other parts of the house.

"But Mum," he said, and she cut him off, her pale blue eyes suddenly quite steely.

"No buts, Draco. We will do this."

Draco, defeated, took a slice of the pot roast Narcissa had prepared.

It was, he had to admit, almost perfect.


	7. The Room Under the Drawing Room

vague spoilers for movie 7 pt. 2 if you don't want to see them then just skip to the story okay?

I WENT TO THE MIDNIGHT SHOWING EVERYTHING WAS AMAZING EXCEPT THE PARTS THEY CHANGED. AHHH IT WAS BEAUTIFUL THERE WAS HARRY AND NEVILLE AND DRACO AND THE AWKWARD HUG OMG AND NARCISSA AND I DIDN'T LIKE ONE OF THE THINGS THEY CHANGED

but something got twisted around a little. There was a scene in the movie that renewed my love for the same scene in the book (aka the scene which starts off this fic and really affected me emotionally), which is something that I'm sharing only because we know now in movie-verse that Draco doesn't love Voldemort, he kind of loves his father, but the person who means the most to him is his _mommy_. D'awww.

That, um, affected this chapter.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not very fond of the room under the drawing room. The Boggart they dealt with in short order this time, and Draco didn't even worry about Potter noticing the long yellow claws of the cloaked thing that swooped at them with too many arms and no head.

Lucius had been upset that Potter wanted to bring so many people, although possibly it was the fact that Arthur Weasley had been included that really undid his pride. Even now, Weasley and his son were looking around and practically gloating. If Draco'd had any say in who got to come, those two would have been the first ones crossed off the list, but he hadn't.

"Right," said Potter. "We're listing everything here today. We'll have to deal with it later, after we've done a bit of research on what everything is. If you can tell immediately what it is, write down its name. Do _not _touch anything, even if you think you know what it is. We already know there are curses on some of the objects."

Lovegood, too, was there, in all her madness.

"Good heavens," she said, pointing at something, "is that the lost Sheath of Wieland the Wary?"

"No," said Draco, "that's my grandfather's. Go right on ahead and touch it, if you want to die a horrible painful death."

She wrote something down on her clipboard. Draco watched her tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear and frown at the parchment.

"Do you, by any chance, know the effects of the curse?" she asked.

"Er, no," said Draco.

Lucius had stepped into the room as well while they weren't looking. "Your skin will fall off," he said coolly.

"Ah," said Lovegood, writing something down. "Exotergum charm. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"I thought you said you didn't want to be here," said Draco.

"I didn't like the thought of... outsiders pawing through my things, unsupervised," said Lucius, and Draco knew he had originally meant, "blood traitors" but had refrained.

"Oh, I absolutely understand," said Lovegood sincerely. "I hate people going through my things, too, Mr. Malfoy. It _is_ distressing, isn't it?"

Draco wondered if she wasn't mocking them. Lucius certainly thought so, his expression twisting into the sneer that was a tell-tale sign he was about to say something cruel. But there wasn't an insincere bone in her body, that much Draco knew. His father wouldn't know that, though. Potter, seemingly sensing the tension, put a hand on Lovegood's shoulder.

"Luna, Ron's doing this section of the room," he said. "D'you mind doing that corner? Malfoy... I guess I mean Draco, will go with you and help you identify things."

"Of course not," she said, smiling, and carefully stepping over a mirror that blocked her way. Draco stared at Potter in disbelief.

Weasleys Sr. and Jr. were about ten feet away, although in separate quadrants of the room, they were close enough to chat about what they were doing.

"Luna, at least, means well," said Potter. "I'll thank you to not antagonize my friends."

Lucius frowned after her, not apologizing, not even acknowledging Potter.

"Odd," he said, "I believe I went to school with her father... a most peculiar man. The resemblance is uncanny."

"Draco, are you coming?" called Lovegood. "Only I'm over here now, and you aren't. Harry was too polite to say he was sending me away from your father, I think, but he really did mean for you to come with me."

"I think you'd best go," said Lucius.

Draco made his way across the room to find her. She looked rather young, he suddenly reflected, not old enough to be away from school. Not that school was starting up until the year after next. Hogwarts would need to be rebuilt, protections put in place again. It was best, or so said the letter the students had all received, that they all take a break to be with their families again, to cherish the people they loved after the horrific events of the war.

"Well, Lovegood," he said, "what first?"

"Luna," she said. "Nobody calls me 'Lovegood.' It's not very pleasant, I don't care for it."

"We're not friends," Draco reminded her.

"No," she said thoughtfully. "But all the same, I prefer to be called Luna, if that's all right with you."

She re-tucked her hair behind her ear, and Draco saw that she was agitated. He wouldn't say nervous, because Love- _Luna_ didn't get nervous or frightened. Just uncomfortable. He remembered that at school she'd always been rather unliked, and just weird. She had begun to write down in the "description" column on the far right of the parchment she was keeping on the clipboard, because Draco hadn't said anything.

"I don't like it here," she confided, breaking the silence, smiling suddenly and gesturing (_such small hands_, Draco thought) to the piles of Dark artifacts surrounding her. "It's unpleasant. It has a bad feeling to it, don't you think? Rather like everything in here wishes you were gone."

"This was my favorite place to explore as a child," Draco told her bluntly. "But it's creepy," he added. "And after a while, not being able to touch anything is sort of boring to an 9 year old. I haven't been down here in years."

She nodded.

"I think I've catalogued the descriptions of several of these things," she said. "Why don't you tell me if they have names, and curses?"

"Okay," said Draco.

She pointed things out, and Draco explained to her all the gruesome punishments for touching each of them in turn, if he knew them, and if he didn't, she made a note to ask Lucius about them in the form of a small, odd shape next to each of the descriptions.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked.

"My dad," said Draco. "There used to be a list, but when he was beginning to be suspected of having this place- long back in my second year, I think- he burnt it."

"Ah," said Luna. "Very clever."

She began to write down more descriptions.

"Harry tells me he's teaching you how to create a Patronus," she said conversationally. "Very ambitious of you. It took me weeks to learn. That was in fourth year, though, so it wouldn't be very difficult for you, I expect."

"Is he telling everyone?"

Luna thought, which apparently involved tilting her head to the side and looking up at the ceiling.

"Well," she said, "everyone who matters. Don't worry, though, we're all quite impressed."

Draco scowled. He didn't really know how to explain to her that he didn't give a rat's arse if they were all impressed, and more importantly, he didn't really _want_ to explain it. Potter had been right when he'd said that Luna was completely sincere. Draco would have once taken this as a reason to be absolutely cruel to her, and indeed had on more than one occasion, but at the moment, "bonkers but courteous" ranked more highly on his list of people to be polite to than "hates my guts."

_It's just good politics_, Draco told himself. _A way to gain respect back._ Not that Luna respected him, far from it. But she didn't hate him, and that was a better place than most to start.

"So," said Luna, "I need you to start telling me the names of things again. Let's start with that shield over there."

They worked in this way for quite a while, with Luna occasionally asking him if one of the things she pointed at was some rare mythical mad-sounding object. It never was, of course, but she kept asking.

* * *

Lunchtime came and went, sandwiches in the kitchen that Granger had procured from some Muggle shop she'd Apparated to. Draco had been hesitant at first, but was won over by the fact that the sandwiches were delicious.

"Where'd you get these from, 'Mione?" asked Potter. "They're _amazing_." She smiled, catlike, and Draco was dismayed to notice that the dental problem he'd teased her about for years was suddenly gone. When had _that_ happened?

Luna inspected her sandwich thoughtfully, peeling back layers of lettuce and tomato

"Not telling."

"Can I know?" said Weasley, around a rather large bite.

Granger glanced at him coyly. Enough was enough. Draco had to take a stand.

"Eurgh," said Draco. "None of that while we're eating. Granger, Weasley, take your torrid love affair away from the table."

The atmosphere suddenly went frigid, and Draco felt vindicated. Things had been getting too... homey.

"Don't like it, leave," said Potter, not even looking at him.

"Can't," said Draco. "House arrest, remember?"

"Get up," said Potter. "Malfoy, we're going to have a chat outside."

"Ooh," said Draco, "quaking in my shoes."

But he followed Potter out. They walked far enough down the hallway that they couldn't be heard from the kitchen, though he saw as he was leaving that Weasley and Granger were fishing out of their pockets interesting-looking artifacts that he recognized from the Weasley's prank shop, little ear-shaped things with strings. If he squinted, he could just see them poking out underneath the door.

"What," said Potter flatly, "is your problem?"

"You know my problem," said Draco, inexplicably pleased at how mad he'd made Potter. "It's the same as it's ever been. I can't stand you or your little troupe. It's maddening that you're in my house. To be fair to Granger, though, those sandwiches were impressive."

"Good thing you think so," said Potter, "your parents paid for them."

"Oh," said Draco, finding that this did in fact deflate his spirits.

Although flushed and upset was a fabulous look for Potter, Draco thought. It made his cheeks pinker, and that set off his eyes rather impressively. Which was not to say that his eyes weren't impressive under normal circumstances, startlingly bottle-green the way that they were. And Potter was all too close, hands balled into fists at his sides. _God_, Draco thought, _his bosom's probably heaving under all those robes... hilarious. He even gets pissed like the main character of a romance novel._

Out loud, he said, "So what are you going to do, Potter? Are you going to up my security? Invite more disasters like Longbottom to guard over me? Or are you going to quit giving me Patronus lessons?"

"No," said Potter. "I'm not going to do anything to you. I've already informed you. You're on thin ice, Malfoy. You seem to be determined to go to Azkaban. You talk a good game, but you wouldn't like it there, I can promise you that. But being rude isn't illegal, and I can't do it."

"I don't know," said Draco, having found a place to pick at and unable to keep himself from picking at it. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, he berated himself, but for the moment, he just couldn't shut his mouth. "I mean, I'm actively causing you problems and hindering you from doing your jobs. I haven't done anything to help you- " _except that time I didn't explain to Aunt Bellatrix who you were, and that doesn't even really count_- "so really it's just my mom keeping me out."

Potter glared at him.

"Your mum lied," he said, and that threw Draco off. "For me, during the battle. I don't know why she didn't want to tell you."

"What?" Draco asked stupidly.

He was unsettled and unsure if he wanted to continue this line of discussion. Potter's mouth twisted into an upset rather than angry frown, and he wasn't glaring so much anymore as looking guilty.

"You weren't there," said Potter. "Voldemort... killed me, or tried to."

Draco stared at him, uncomprehending. Avada Kedavra had failed a second- no, _third_ time?

"Protective magic," said Potter, "because my mother died for me. But your mother was just as brave. She lied to Voldemort for you, to the most accomplished Legilimens in the world. So Voldemort didn't know until later that I wasn't dead. She wanted to be able to get back to the castle as part of the conquering army, so she could find you."

Draco sank to the floor, crouching against the wall, unable to stand anymore. He'd seen what happened to those who lied to the Dark Lord. He didn't just kill them, he tortured them, until they were screaming and bleeding and begging for death, and even then, he kept them alive as an example.

His mother had seen it, too. They'd seen it together, cringed at the horror of it.

He closed his eyes, trying very hard not to picture what would have happened if his mother hadn't been a good Occlumens.

"I know she didn't want to tell you," said Potter, "but I don't know why."

"_You_ wouldn't understand," snapped Draco, all the anger from before rushing back. "She didn't want to tell me because she knows I'm angry about how things went. She didn't think I was a full-on Voldemort supporter at the time, but she knew I agreed with some of it. She didn't want to tell me because she doesn't know that by the end of it, I was at least as sick of it as she was, because I couldn't tell her, you see? She didn't want to tell me because she thinks I'd be angry if I knew that she'd turned against Voldemort in the end, and that she'd basically put us in the situation we're in now."

Potter, who had sat down next to him, looked stunned. He stared at Draco, slack-jawed.

"Oh, do go on looking like a stunned deer," said Draco frostily, "it's ever so charming. Excuse me."

Renewed, he leapt to his feet. Potter followed, and Draco took off down the corridor. Potter tried to follow him, but as Draco was much taller and had a much longer stride, he had a difficult time of it. He was practically jogging by the time Draco realized he didn't want Potter to follow him. He stopped.

"No," said Draco, "you stay here. Go talk to Weasley and Granger and tell them I'm very sorry or something. Thank Granger for the sandwiches for me, I don't even care, tell them we're besties and planning a bloody sleepover. I have to go talk to my mother."

Potter gaped at him. Draco began to walk again. Potter called after him.

"You aren't... angry at her, are you?"

"Not at all," said Draco. "Promise. Honest to God, no sarcasm here. I am off to thank my mother."

He glanced back at Potter, who was staring at him with a bemused smile on his face, like he didn't really know why he was smiling or even if he ought to be.

_Huh_, Draco thought, _never seen that one before_.

"Are you actually sorry?" asked Potter, although Draco was almost out of hearing range.

"Sure, why not," Draco called back loudly. "Maybe the Blast-Ended Skrewts will even fly someday, who knows?"

* * *

"Mum," said Draco, flinging open the door to the room where she usually was during the day and catching her and Lucius in a kiss. "Oh, God! Disgusting!"

They broke it off, rolling their eyes. If Draco was completely honest with himself, it was nice, he supposed, that they were still so in love. But on the other hand, they were also _old_. And his parents.

"Draco," said Narcissa disapprovingly, though she and Lucius stepped apart.

"I just wanted to say," he said, "Potter just told me. About what you did at the Battle of Hogwarts."

She went pale.

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it, more than he'd ever meant anything else. "Mum, I really... I really don't know how to thank you enough. It was brave of you and you saved us all. God, you're practically a Gryffindor. That might've been the bravest thing a Malfoy's ever done. And, you know, it's a good thing, when the Malfoys do that. Not like when the Potters do it, when it's just Gryffindor posturing."

His parents raised their eyebrows at one another. Lucius sighed, and Narcissa stifled a snort.

"I'm of the noble house of Black, darling," his mother reminded him, though she was beginning to cry.

"The bravest thing a Black's ever done, then," Draco amended. "I mean it, Mum, you shouldn't have been afraid to tell me about it. I really- you knew about the things he'd done, the way he dealt with liars- and you did it anyway."

She swooped down on him in a hug.

"_Mum_," he whined, pushing her off and then deciding, _oh, why not._ He hugged her back. She seemed so small, suddenly, not like when he was young. Lucius caught his eye, and smiled. They were on eye level, Draco realized. That, too, had happened in the last year.

"In the end," said Draco, "I guess- I couldn't tell you, because, you know, he was there, but it was awful. I hated it. I hated him. I don't like Mudbloods much either, but I'll take my chances with Granger any day."

"I feel the same way, darling," said Narcissa.

They let go.

"Right," said Draco, "so that's settled then. That's all."

He left them as suddenly as he'd come in.

* * *

Back to the room under the drawing room, he found Luna hard at work again. Lucius, too, was back, and talking with the Weasleys. He was sneering and posturing, and Draco felt it best to stay away. He really did hope his father wouldn't get into another fight, though, but mostly because it was pretty likely that in here a particularly strong punch would get someone knocked into something that would melt their brain out their ears.

Luna, on the other hand, was chatting incessantly.

"This is absolutely fascinating," she said, "I recognize these pieces. That's a 14th century carving from Agapetus the Apt, who once bit his own toe off in order to spare himself from the frightening Toe-Eating Gurglytum, and that's a 17th century work by Damiana the Daring, who modelled it after the chimaera she'd fought in her hometown when she was five."

"Disregarding the fact that neither of those stories are true," said Draco, who knew for a fact that the first carving was from the 18th century and the second from the 11th, and that wasn't even considering the ridiculous stories that Luna had told about the made-up creators, "why would he have bitten off his own toe in order to spare himself from the Toe-Chomping Whatsit? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?"

Luna stared at him with large, astonished eyes.

"Of course they're true," she said, sounding wounded, and then he actually felt bad. It was all of this Gryffindor bravery going around in his family. Evidently you could catch morals like they were the flu.

"Er," said Draco, "all right. Um. I'll just tell you the curses on them then, shall I?"

"That will do," said Luna, although she still didn't look completely sure if she wanted to listen to him, and that was fair, he supposed.

This continued for the rest of the day. By the end of it, Draco was exhausted, and Luna was beginning to look rather drained, too.

"I had a lovely day," she said, yawning, "but I really think that I'll have to eat dinner and go to bed."

"Same here," said Draco, and then he was surprised that he was making small talk with her, and that he actually had gotten to the point where he'd enjoyed her company. Though honestly, he wasn't sure if she was lying about the "lovely day" part, except that this was Luna, and Luna and lying were alien concepts to one another. Draco hardly knew the girl, but he could tell that much.

"I mean it," said Luna, and then he panicked a little, wondering if she'd read his thoughts. "Mostly, you're extremely unkind, but you really ought to try being nice for a change. It would probably suit you very well. It does suit most everyone, anyway, and I hardly think you're as different from the rest of us as you like to think you are."

She smiled at him, and he wasn't sure what she was expecting. An apology? A promise that he would be nicer?

"Er," he said, "thanks, I guess."

"See?" she said, still smiling. "Anyway, let's call it a day."

He followed her out of the room in silence.

* * *

Fenrir sat in the dingy little pub, a little too early, he fancied, because Mulciber wasn't here yet. Edward served him plenty of drinks during the wait, and there were plenty of stains on the walls and floor to wonder about, and werewolves to talk to and buy drinks for. He was quite drunk by the time Mulciber got there.

"Hello," said Mulciber. "So. You saw it?"

"Yeah," said Fenrir. "A Theri- "

Mulciber put out an arm, and Fenrir realized too late that he'd been quite loud.

"Not here," hissed Mulciber.

"Right," said Fenrir. "Listen, I'm in."

Mulciber straightened up, looking cheerful. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Fenrir.

"We can even get... the boy, too, while we're at it," said Mulciber.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow. It was quite a menacing gesture, he knew, he'd practiced it in the mirror. Mulciber shrank back appropriately. Fenrir smiled, knowing that this, too, was frightening.

"Malfoy or Potter?" he asked, in a low whisper. "You can say their names. Like as not, the people in this bar will be supportive. Half of them I'll try to recruit for my army."

Mulciber relaxed a little.

"Both, if you want."

"Oh," said Fenrir, "I do want to. Mostly the Malfoy boy, though."

Mulciber shivered a little.

"Don't like my tastes, do you?" asked Fenrir, genuinely curious, though it did have the effect of Mulciber shaking his head furiously, and that wasn't all bad. "Find them... horrific? Disgusting? Disturbing?"

"No! No, nothing wrong with them, not at all- "

"Oh," said Fenrir, "would've thought differently, should've seen the horror on your face. Maybe you should tone it down a bit. Might give a man the wrong idea. Make enemies where you don't necessarily want 'em."

"Wouldn't want that," said Mulciber.

"Not at all," agreed Fenrir. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Other normal humans, Fenrir thought with disdain, probably thought Mulciber looked big and frightening. But if you were Fenrir Greyback, you knew that they were all the same, all small and all cowardly, all painfully normal, frightened of anything _bigger_ or _stronger_ or _better_ than them in any way.

"So," he said, feeling bigger and stronger and better than the man sitting before him, "tell me the date, and I'll be there."

He grinned his most feral grin. Mulciber audibly swallowed.


	8. Draco Makes A Patronus

Author is having all kinds of plot bunnies related to this story. Thank you, resurgence of interest in Harry Potter due to movie 7 pt. 2!

The Patronus I chose for Draco is, of course, a popular one for him, but it's always been my headcanon when I found out he couldn't make one. There are other fic out there giving him different ones: unicorns, snakes, and of course dragons are particularly popular due to his name. And if I thought he deserved it, I'd give him a dragon.

But nope! I don't. This is Draco "No One Asked Your Opinion, You Filthy Little Mudblood" Malfoy we're talking about. He doesn't deserve anything half so ego-gratifying as a dragon.

* * *

Two weeks passed. The room under the drawing room was getting emptier by the day, although a few of the more nasty or unidentified objects had to remain. Draco worked with Luna on a daily basis, something which he had protested at first but found his protests to be futile in the face of Potter's obnoxious "you'll do it because it needs to be done and I say so" reasoning. Lucius and the Weasleys worked together. Draco didn't know how anyone, especially Potter who he recalled as being present when Weasley Sr. and Lucius had gotten in one of their brawls, thought this could be a good idea, but all noses thus far had remained intact.

They were all waiting for the day, however, when Lucius and-slash-or Arthur shed the act of polite comradeship.

Which appeared to be today.

Lucius had experienced, Draco recalled, a particularly poor night the prior evening, as the Order had informed him that there would be a trial and he would need to contact his lawyers.

Apparently, they didn't want to be just like the Dark Lord's regime, and had decided that perhaps throwing people in Azkaban or locking them up in their houses and throwing away the key, no trial or legal routes taken to do so, no time limit on the actions taken, was a _reprehensible_ thing.

It had only taken them several months to decide to be noble.

Draco suspected that Saint Potter had a great deal to do with this. The sudden surge of interest in the concept of "justice", that is, not the rather long delay that they'd decided to taken. Really, the point of the trials, as Draco understood it, was to figure out a time period after which they would be obligated to do something, and decide whether or not to send someone other than the novice interns (only here because of the shortage of Order members and the relative safety of guarding Malfoys as opposed to, say, homicidal werewolves and vampires and the less-ambivalent Death Eaters) who had to go back to Hogwarts in September.

Draco couldn't _wait_ for that.

"Draco," said Luna, as she scribbled down descriptions of horrific Dark objects, "does it seem to you like your father and Ron's father are going to fight?"

The voices on the other end of the room got louder, as Lucius began to sneer at Arthur's lack of knowledge on the subject of Dark objects and Arthur began to talk very loudly about obnoxious prats who wouldn't bloody help people who were trying to help them.

"It does seem likely," agreed Draco.

Luna sighed.

"Harry said this might happen," she told Draco in a whisper, as though she wasn't supposed to tell it to him. "He said if things got... out of hand, which they might be right now, that I should switch up the groups a little bit."

Draco paused for a minute before going over there. He glanced at Luna, who was smiling serenely.

"Don't worry about me, although it's very kind of you to do so," she said.

"I wasn't worrying," said Draco sharply. Luna went back to her clipboard and shrugged a little.

Because he absolutely was worried. Lucius wouldn't like Luna at all, Draco knew. He'd been treated to a long discussion of Xenophilius Lovegood's oddities and why each and every one of them meant that Draco should stay the hell away from that family. In the mood he was in, Lucius would be cruel to Luna, and taunt her with snide comments every chance he got, and more.

It was what Draco had done for years, after all.

Voices were getting louder on the other end of the room.

"Draco," said Luna. She had a soft tone of voice, like she was speaking to a little kid. "Just go."

"Fine." Draco didn't care if she got eaten alive by his dad. Metaphorically, of course. That was _her_ problem now. "Dad!" he called.

Lucius turned around. Both he and Weasley were practically nose-to-nose, and Weasley Jr. stood off to the side looking menacing.

"Luna needs your help over there," he said. "I don't know all of them, and we've gotten to a part that I really don't know."

"What? Oh, er, right," said Lucius, the flushed anger not yet gone from his face.

Weasleys Sr. and Jr. stared at Draco. Weasley Sr. in particular still looked a little angry, and Jr. looked shocked.

"What?" he snapped, feeling self-conscious. "Go on, record your stupid list for the Ministry."

"Right," said Weasley Sr, looking a little awkward. He coughed into his hand.

They worked in silence for a little while. It wasn't nearly as nice as working with Luna, because anyone walking in probably could have cut with a knife the hostility between the Weasleys and Draco. But they managed it without even a snide comment from either side. In fact, it was quite productive. And at the end of the day, Weasley Sr. shook Draco's hand.

He wasn't sure what to make of that.

* * *

Potter cornered him in the kitchen at the end of the evening after dinner. It was Draco's turn to do dishes, a task which he had unfortunately found himself resigned to after a month of it. It wasn't the worst thing, anyway. He guessed.

"Malfoy," said Potter by way of greeting.

Draco turned around, and then was embarrassed by the apron that he'd donned in order to keep his clothes from getting wet. His mother had insisted. At least it was blue rather than, say, pink, but it was sort of a pastel-y almost-purple blue that did not look manly at all.

"Potter," he returned. It wasn't the best of comebacks.

"Good look for you." Potter smiled a little wickedly, and leaned against the countertop.

Draco scowled and took off the apron as fast as he could. Potter's smirk did not disappear.

"What do you want?"

Potter had never sought him out like this before.

"I heard you broke up a potential fight between Mr. Weasley and your dad," said Potter, serious again. "I wanted to say that I was impressed."

Draco went back to the dishes, putting the apron back on because the shirt he was wearing really was nice.

"Harry Potter is impressed!" he said dramatically, flinging his arms out to the sides. Potter jumped a little, presumably soapy water had hit him in the face. Draco continued. "My life is complete! I can die happily. I might swoon."

"I'm being honest," said Potter.

"What," said Draco, "do you _really_ expect me to care?"

Now, of course, he was genuinely curious. Potter did look like this meant something.

"I do," said Potter. "Because this is exactly the kind of good behavior that will get you your wand back. And I never would have guessed that you and Luna would get on."

"We don't '_get on'_," Draco said in amazement, horrified by the mere concept. He nearly dropped the plate he was working on, but caught it in time before he had to clean up the broken porcelain. "It is a working relationship- I just didn't want to have to deal with my dad, oh, I don't know, making her cry or something- wait, you'll give me my wand back?"

"If this keeps up," Potter agreed.

"So," said Draco, "it doesn't matter if my views change or not. As long as I _act_ nice- "

"Obviously," Potter cut him off, "breaking up a fight is not what's important. What is important is that you didn't encourage it, and of course it's not going to be the only thing that gets you your wand back. So no, it doesn't matter if you act nice, frankly , you will have to prove that your views are changing, but the mere act of breaking up the fight tells us something's different."

"I just didn't want my dad turned into a cockroach if he got into a fight and wasn't paying attention to the cursed objects," Draco protested.

"Oh," said Potter, "so I guess we'll just have to pretend today never happened."

"Do that," said Draco. "And this conversation is done, right? I can clean the dishes now?"

"No," said Potter, "that's not all."

"What else could you possibly have to say?"

Draco really was not enjoying this discussion.

"Only reminding you about your lessons this evening," said Potter. When Draco glanced at him, he gave a little shrug and said, "Thought you might've forgotten. It's past time."

"Merlin's beard," said Draco, looking at the clock.

When he looked back, Potter was gone.

"You at least could've helped!" Draco yelled at the empty air.

* * *

They'd basically practiced for seven days or so by this point, so a routine was firmly in place by the time Draco got to the library that night. For the most part, they didn't greet each other, Potter simply handing him his wand and Draco steeling himself for an hour of just drilling. Over and over and over. Potter frequently read or worked on other things during this time, though as Draco got better and better he offered more comments and suggestions.

They had been practicing for over an hour now.

"Try exaggerating the wand motions more," said Potter. "You have to be _really_ confident, or else it won't work. My first corporeal Patronus I produced because I'd- er, because I knew for certain I could do it."

He oddly looked incredibly shifty at that moment, like he'd said more than he was supposed to. Well, if that was the whole story, Draco was half-Kneazle. He was about to ask about it, but Potter said, "Go on, what are you waiting for," in his teacher-voice again, and Draco decided to just let it go. Potter went back to his book. The candlelight flickered as the wind from Draco's smoke-Patronuses rushed past it.

"_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!_"

A really strong one put out the candle. Potter rushed to relight it, but made no attempt to continue reading his book. Instead, he focused solely on Draco. Suddenly, Draco was self-conscious.

He was beginning to be able to produce a white smoke every time he attempted. Potter would nod each time, and Draco got the feeling that he was doing very well. This was confirmed when Potter told him that when he'd taught other students in his fifth year, it took them several weeks to really get the hang of producing that every single time, and they'd practiced once or twice a week together.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Draco was rather proud that he'd done better than a bunch of fourth and fifth years.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The strongest time of all. Draco wondered if it was possibly related to his thoughts on pride and doing better than others.

"That time _definitely_ had feet," said Draco. "I saw them. Really, I did."

"You know," said Potter thoughtfully, "I thought you were wrong the last four times you said that, but this time I think you're right."

Potter looked very pleased, and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"What do you think it's going to be?" asked Draco, beginning to get excited despite himself.

Potter smirked and opened his mouth to say something no doubt incredibly insulting.

"Never mind," said Draco quickly.

"They did look like cat feet," said Potter. "But I don't think it'll be a cat."

"Why not?"

Cats, Draco felt, were underappreciated, and he rather liked them. He wouldn't mind if his was a cat. In fact, he was kind of hoping for it. Either that or some ridiculously large animal that would put Potter's to shame. Size was, of course, very important. He'd been hearing for years about Potter's stag Patronus, and how majestic it was, so he was kind of hoping for something like a hippogriff or a chimaera. Chimaera, he thought, would be nice.

"Because McGonagall and Umbridge both had cats for theirs," said Potter, "and you're not anything like either of them. Not that they're anything like each other. Try it again. I really think you're getting there. If you produce a corporeal one, I want you to practice it for the next week. We haven't got Dementors to practice on, of course, but I've found it's easiest to learn when you're practicing on something that has the same effect. I used a Boggart my third year, but that wouldn't work for you, I expect."

Potter seemed to be thinking out loud, really, so Draco just let him.

He cast the spell again, but only got smoke. Not even Draco could pretend there were feet in it. This happened a few more times.

"I guess I'm getting tired," Draco said.

"Are you using a happy enough memory?" asked Potter.

"Well," said Draco, "I'm using... yeah, I'm using a really happy time."

Still using the time his dad bought broomsticks for the entire team and Draco had been incredibly popular. But it wasn't really the most loved time of his life, he thought. He could barely remember the names of his teammates, and honestly, some of them had been rather stupid.

The most loved time.

He'd never been in love despite Pansy Parkinson's desperate attempts. So, who did he love? Who loved him?

The answer was obvious, of course. He loved his family- not the extended parts, of course, but his parents, who had only ever wanted the best for him. And yeah, so they had their failings, which at best had been petty prejudices and at worst had led to death and torture- all right, so they weren't even close to being "good people". But they were all Draco had. And he'd never been more relieved in his life when he saw them running towards him, unscathed, in the Battle.

It felt so long ago now, now that he was at home and "home" didn't mean where the Dark Lord's presence made every room a veritable ring of hell. But at the same time, Draco could still remember the despair of the time so keenly. Vincent's death had only been minutes before, and in those few minutes he'd had time to worry about everyone else he'd ever known. So when he saw his parents running towards him, his mother dragging Lucius by the hand as far away from the action of the battle as she could get and taking Draco's hand, too, Lucius putting a hand on his shoulder-

Oh, well, duh.

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted.

_they're alive they're okay i'm okay it's going to be all right_

A clear form erupted from the end of his wand, lithe and elegant. It gamboled around the room a few times, finally stopping to turn around and stare him in the eye one last time before dissipating into smoke, vanishing in a long moment.

Draco was going to be sick. He was going to vomit.

No. It couldn't be real. This was some kind of horrible dream. He would wake up, and it was all right, his Patronus would turn out to be a fucking chimaera in the end, and unlike all other Patronuses it would_roar_- and it would be the most badass Patronus anyone had ever seen- it_ wouldn't_ remind Draco of one of his most humiliating moments-

Potter's eyebrows were nearly falling off his forehead, they were so high.

"Never," hissed Draco, "ever, ever, _ever_ speak of this again, Potter."

Potter opened his mouth to say something.

Draco threw his wand at him. He wasn't sure, there might have been sparks, but he was slamming the door before Potter could get whatever it was out.

He stormed up to his room, passing Luna on the way and not even acknowledging her.

"Draco," said Luna, "did your lesson go poorly? I heard- well, I could hear you say something very angrily to Harry, is everything all right? I was going to look for you because Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy wanted to talk to you- "

"Fine," spat Draco, "I'll go."

"Oh, dear," said Luna. "Don't be angry for too long. It attracts Triuncular Tariantots, and _everyone_ knows how bad that is- "

Draco could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Potter!

"Can't stay to talk, have to go," said Draco quickly, halfway down the stairs. If he could just outrun Potter, then he would have a little time to think about this and perhaps figure out a plan of action. How to fix this.

"Oh, of course you do," said Luna. "See you later. They're in the drawing room."

Draco ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, and then three, because Potter wasn't following him anymore but he still wanted to get as much of a lead as he could. Then when he realized he was panting and sweating and probably very flushed, and that wouldn't do to greet his parents, he slowed down in the corridor to the drawing room.

"What?" he asked.

"Goodness," said Narcissa, "how fast did you run to get here?"

"Oh, um, Luna said it was very important," lied Draco.

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a Look.

"Just tell me what you were going to say," he said irritably. "I'm really very tired and I have a headache."

It wasn't true, but he wanted to go to his room and that was the best excuse.

"Poor dear," said Narcissa. Lucius put a hand on her shoulder.

"You've got to testify at the trial," said Lucius. "We had hoped you wouldn't have to, but as you're being tried, too, it's a necessity."

"Oh," said Draco, having expected this. "Well, that's all right. I just... tell them what happened, right? Is that it?"

"Only if they ask you about it," Lucius corrected.

"Right," agreed Draco. "Of course. Can I go now?"

Potter was probably catching up. Luna would tell him where they were, and then he would come here, and he would say something and it was going to be awful-

"Er," said Lucius, raising his eyebrows, "yes, I suppose."

"Goodbye," he said, and was out the door very quickly. He wished he'd brought his wand, he could have masked the sound of his footsteps or cast a Disillusionment charm, anything, anything to avoid meeting any of his jailers. But of course, that probably would have caused more problems. He opened the door to his room very quietly, so as to avoid getting any attention, and crept in, shutting it again as softly as he could.

_Stupid Potte_r, he thought vindictively, as though it were somehow Potter's fault that Mad-Eye Moody had happened to choose the particular animal that Draco's soul was evidently most like. _Stupid ferrets. Stupid Patronuses._

He picked up his pillow and threw it at the wall, then sat back against his headboard with an angry exhale, folding his arms and glaring at the wall as though it were the cause of his problems.

"Well," said someone outside his door, "that was dramatic."

"Go away," said Draco, wondering if Potter was referring to the thud he must've heard, or the fact that Draco had just had something of a temper tantrum.

"You actually set my robes on fire," said Potter, sounding amused.

"Good," Draco muttered.

"I heard that."

"I don't care! I said it so you would! Why are you here?"

"I thought," said Potter patiently, "that I might come talk to you. Although now I'm not really sure why."

"Good, because it was a bloody stupid idea in the first place," Draco. "Go back to Weasley and the Mu- to Granger. Trust your instincts."

Draco winced. Why had he corrected himself? He was bowing to _them_.

On the other hand, saying "Mudblood" would've been still bowing to the Dark Lord.

"Still standing here because I do."

After a moment, Draco wondered if Potter meant "standing here" in a literal sense, as in standing in front of Draco's door, or in a wider, more metaphorical sense, as in "not dead." Sobering, but still not worth getting up and letting him in so they could share their feelings or whatever it was bloody heart-on-their-sleeve Gryffindors did.

"Whatever you want to say can be said through the door," said Draco.

"I just think," said Potter, "that this doesn't have to be such a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!" snapped Draco. He'd gotten ferret comments even during sixth year, from _first_-years who hadn't even been there when it had happened. If the past year hadn't happened the way it had, he would probably _still_ be getting them. As soon as everyone found out, he definitely would. He'd never lived it down. And if Weasley found out-

"All right," said Potter, "so what? Are you going to not defend yourself if a bloody Dementor shows up because you're _embarrassed_? Don't be a git, you know how to answer that question."

Draco didn't have anything to say. Potter continued, getting louder as he went on.

"All right, so Dementors are unlikely to appear. There are what, ten on the loose? It's even less likely that a Lethifold will show up, but your Patronus will save you from that, too. Even at your trial, it might come up that you've been practicing the Patronus charm. I can assure you, no true Death Eater knows how to make one that I know of. Why would they? There's no reason for Death Eaters to drive off Dark creatures. It'll be a point in your favor, I promise. As will the ability to communicate with your Patronus, which I can teach you if you really do get stronger."

"I _can't_," said Draco, without really thinking about it. If he had, he'd definitely have attempted to not let his voice crack. As if he really was fourteen again, although that wasn't really why it cracked. "Why would you even teach me that charm, anyway? Isn't that an Order thing?"

"You can," said Potter, with the teacher tone back in his voice. "And I'll teach it to you because there's no way to fake Patronuses."

"If only," muttered Draco.

"I expect you wouldn't even be able to conjure one, if you were trying to fake it," Potter said thoughtfully. "Because you can't fake yourself."

"Bloody hell, Potter, can't we just end this conversation?"

"If you want. Goodbye, Malfoy, I'll be in the library tomorrow if you want to practice."

"Don't wait too long," said Draco, but Potter was gone.

Something had changed about Potter in the last year, Draco decided. It wasn't as easy to tease him. Draco had always had something of an upper hand in their prior confrontations, due to the fact that Potter knew nothing about his own life and Draco knew it all from Death Eater gossip, so he could taunt Potter mercilessly with hints of mysteries from his past, but suddenly, things had changed. Potter had a sort of new confidence about him, and Draco was the one at his mercy.

Draco was the one under house arrest, Draco was the one who had lost everything. Saint Potter, of course, being the architect of that downfall. And, unlike all of Draco's prior attempts to make Potter look the fool, Potter hadn't even meant to do it, not directly, anyway.

Of course.

Because Draco had never gotten under Potter's skin the way that Potter got under his. He'd never really _hated_ Draco, although Draco had seen flashes of disgust and dislike in his face- even when Potter had been sitting before him, face swollen and dragged in roughly by Snatchers, with Bellatrix forcing him to kneel on the floor and stare up into Draco's eyes- when Draco could have had Potter killed within an instant, even then, Potter had not loathed Draco the way that Draco loathed him. He simply hadn't shown any emotion on his face, and Potter, of course, on any normal occasion read like an open book. Perhaps it had been the Stinging Hex, but perhaps it had also been the fact that, on some level, Potter _pitied_ him, and otherwise at that point did not care about him at all.

Potter thought he was so much bloody better than Draco that it was actually some sort of _noblesse oblige_ that kept him teaching Draco the Patronus incantation, kept Draco out of Azkaban on a smallish technicality.

_I don't want to think about this anymore_, thought Draco, rubbing at his eyes with his hands. He considered for a moment going to sleep, but decided he didn't want to get up to change into his pajamas, or to get the stupid pillow from where he'd tossed it to the other side of the room. Despite this, and due to magical overexertion and Potter-related frustration, he fell asleep right there.

And he dreamt about ferrets the whole night.


	9. Ambition and Loyalty and Family Matters

AN: I was kindly informed that the whole trial thing was confusing, so I went back and explained it better. Of course I love long gushing reviews as much as the next gal, but it's constructive criticism that the whole function is meant for and I'm still getting the hang of this writing thing so there's got to be more problems. If you see any, let me know, all right? From where I'm working in the trees it's a little difficult to see the forest, if that's not too tired a metaphor.

My mental picture of Malfoy Manor is a ridiculous composite of the house I grew up in and Hogwarts as portrayed in the early PC games. It is full of odd inconsistencies. I... I should draw a map, now... D:

after drawing map: OH MY GOD NEVER LET ME BECOME AN ARCHITECT WHAT IS THIS _WHY IS THIS SO HARD_

* * *

Draco did not go to the library the next day, nor the day after. In fact, he completely avoided the hallways that even led to it for a week. Potter did not seek him out again, for which he was extremely grateful. In fact, he didn't even see Potter for that week. He wondered if he'd even shown up at the house.

Apparently, the security had been relaxed, as most of the Aurors were gone from his house, and the security detail that had been the primary group- Luna, Granger, Weasley- was now taking it in turns. Each would stay for a day. Draco shortly realized that their entire purpose was to notify the Ministry if the Malfoys got out of hand. There was still something of a fear that they would, but they were much less of a threat, and, as everyone kept bloody saying, they all had families to get back to.

When his parents asked if he was still taking Patronus lessons from Potter, he lied and said yes and hoped they wouldn't ask questions. He'd never told them about the ferret incident and he saw no reason to now. The conversation ended there, thankfully, and Draco gently nudged it in the direction of the trial.

"It'll happen in several weeks' time," Lucius informed him. "I just got the date today. August the 12th."

"I'll just write that into my day planner so I don't forget and make plans with friends," said Draco.

His parents glared at him.

"Not funny," said Narcissa. "Draco, please. It's been several months now. We would have thought you'd be used to it by now."

"I am used to it," said Draco. "This is how I'm handling it."

Narcissa pursed her lips, an expression Draco had only seen once or twice and only during times of the breaking of priceless family heirlooms.

"Fine," he said, "I'm just... going to go take a nap, or something."

He left them there, kicking the door open (fine, _sort_ _of_ gently) on his way out. Now that the library was not likely to contain Granger or Weasley or another one of his jailers, it was a quite pleasant place to be, even if Draco didn't fancy reading all the books in there. And Potter was most definitely not here at this time. He decided to sulk there.

Unfortunately, Luna was in there, nose-deep in a Quibbler magazine. An odd hat, with multicolored, glittering strings hanging off of it and what appeared to be a butterfly poking out from the back, slipped down her forehead, and she pushed it up again, noticing as she did so that he was there. He turned around again.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "did you want to be in here? I can leave, if you like."

"No, it's fine," he said. "You can stay. I'll just... go."

"I have an idea," she said, "we can both stay in here."

He frowned a little. "As long as you don't talk. I won't either."

"I'm busy," she said, holding up the magazine. "I won't bother you."

Draco chose a chair on the other side of the room, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, where he could see the whole of the lawns. A peacock strutted past, white against the green of the grass. He watched it make its way to the other side. Flowers bloomed in the gardens, red and orange and indigo and pink. A forest crowded the edges, where the fence kept it out. He sighed heavily.

Summer, at the Malfoy home. It was always the same.

"Don't sigh so loudly," Luna said, "it attracts tiddlydurps."

She'd said she wouldn't bother him. Whatever she got as a response was her own fault.

"That is patently ridiculous," Draco declared. "Why do you believe in all that, anyway? It's obviously hogwash."

There was a pause. He glanced up at her, wondering if he'd made her angry. He hadn't. She was simply back to reading her magazine.

"Lots of people," said Luna, "only believe in things that they can see. Muggles mostly don't believe in magic."

"Right," said Draco, "that's because they're Muggles and they haven't got any. Whereas we have magic, and we still don't find Babbling Humperdincks."

"Blibbering Humdingers," Luna corrected, quite gently for a crazy person. "And most people didn't believe in Ravenclaw's diadem, did they, before Harry found it and destroyed it."

Draco didn't know what she was talking about, but neither did he care.

"Sometimes we don't see everything that's there," said Luna. "For instance, you don't see the charms protecting your house, but you know they're there. You've always known, haven't you?"

"All right," Draco conceded. "There are things that exist that I can't see, I suppose. But I still don't believe in Bubbling Humdiddles."

"Then what do you believe in, Draco? There's got to be something."

He looked up at her, and she was staring at him expectantly this time. She pushed some of the strings from her hat out of the way of her eyes. Her wide-eyed, blank stare did not help his discomfort. He didn't say anything.

Which, actually, _was_ his answer, in a way.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, after a moment, "there was a Muggle who said when you start with doubts, you end in certainties, and when you start with certainties, you end in doubts."

"Muggles are ridiculous," Draco informed her. "That makes no sense. You can't end in doubts because then you're starting in doubts again, right?"

"That was kind of the point," she said loftily, pulling the Quibbler back up in front of her face.

"I knew that," said Draco, scowling.

* * *

If Luna had told anyone about what Draco had not-said, he might have to kill her. As it was, Granger and Weasley, on their respective days, showed no difference in their attitudes towards him, which was just fine by him. He didn't see Potter, and he was informed that the Malfoy visits had been dropped from Potter's schedule.

_Well_, thought Draco rather vindictively, _now everything can be right again_. _ No Potter snooping around means that I can go right back to..._

To what, exactly? What had been different about Potter?

To jailers being merely jailers, he decided. Sure, he didn't like Granger and Weasley, but it was nothing compared to the absolute torture to his pride that was having Potter around and having Potter _pity_ him.

Of course, boring things didn't last for very long.

The week before the trial, there was a knock at the door, which was odd because nobody knocked these days. Nobody came to visit them, only the Order members guarding them came to their house, and they didn't knock at the door. Who would visit the disgraced Malfoys? Their only friends were in Azkaban, or dead.

So of course, Draco, when he heard the loud knock, came out to the top of the second-floor landing to see.

Weasley answered it, _like a butler_, thought Draco with gratification. A woman's voice, indistinct, but probably saying some kind of greeting, was audible. Weasley stepped back and let the visitor through.

For one heart-stopping, horrific moment, Draco thought he was seeing Bellatrix Lestrange, and he was almost sick over the edge of the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white, but then she turned to look at him. Her hair was tidier, for one thing, but there was something in the way that she held herself that was at once like Bellatrix and radically different.

The difference, of course, was obvious. She lacked Bellatrix's distinct flair of "batshit insane".

"Ah," she said coolly. "You must be my nephew, Draco. No mistaking it, you're the spitting image of your parents. Come here."

Draco, heart still pounding, made his way down the stairs. As he got closer, he could see that her face, too, was similar to Bellatrix's. But her hair was brown as opposed to black, and her eyes were lighter.

She inspected him closely. Now that he was closer, he could see his mother in her face, too, in the wider set of her eyes and in the softer lines of her nose and cheeks.

"I am your Aunt Andromeda," she informed him. "Your mother's sister."

"I know," said Draco. "You married a- a Muggle."

She smiled, although it didn't reach her eyes.

"Nicer words than your parents have used. There may be hope for you yet, though I've heard you were quite the junior Death Eater for a while. Cleaning up your act? And just in time for your trial, too. How... fortunate."

He shrugged.

"It's been a long year."

She pursed her lips.

"I would like to talk to your mother," she said. "I've asked Ronald to get her. That is, if she'll see me. Are you going to offer me a seat or not, Draco?"

Draco brushed his hair out of his face.

Right. Being polite.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm terribly sorry for being so rude. Mum will probably want to meet you in the room across the hall, that's where we usually receive important guests. Is she expecting you?"

"No," said Andromeda. "I only received word of her trial this morning."

"This way. Would you like to sit down? Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Thank you, I'm fine."

Draco sat down in the chair on the other side of the room from the couch where Andromeda had sat. There was a stilted moment of awkward silence, then-

"Excuse me," said Andromeda. "But how old are you, again?"

"Eighteen," said Draco.

"Ah. Of course. Only a few years younger than my Dora."

Draco was silent. He'd seen Nymphadora Tonks, his cousin, once in his life, on the night of her death.

He'd never seen her alive, never seen her as more than a cooling body on a stretcher, a hand outstretched-

"Mum should be on her way," he said, fighting the extremely vivid memories of that night, things that had been recently cropping up in his more unpleasant nightmares. If his voice shook, Andromeda didn't mention it. "I don't know why she's not here yet- "

The door opened slowly.

"So it's true," breathed Narcissa, a flush creeping up on her face. A strand of her hair was out of place, and she looked- Draco rather thought- she looked like she'd run there. "You've come to- you've come to _gloat_."

"The woman who lied to the Dark Lord and saved Britain, saved Harry Potter, thinks _I_ have come to gloat," said Andromeda, sneering. Besides her Muggle-loving tendencies, Draco realized, there was not an inch of this woman that was not Black family material through and through.

"Don't you dare bring that up," hissed Narcissa.

Draco gaped at them both.

"Fine," Andromeda hissed right back, and her voice was indistinguishable from Narcissa's. "I won't. I ought to have known that you wouldn't want to see me. You made as much clear 27 years ago. I thought, perhaps, given recent events, that you might have changed. And I knew even if it had that you'd be too prideful to seek me out. But nothing is different. You're as foolish as ever, Cissy, and you're still too caught up in our moronic family's traditions to even care that you're losing your sister. I'll remember this, now. That I've tried and failed. _Again_. This is no longer on my conscience."

She stood up. Draco couldn't take his eyes off her, his mysterious aunt who had lost her whole family. He wondered if his mother knew.

"It was nice to talk to you, Draco," she said. "I don't expect to ever have the chance again."

Andromeda held out her hand, and he shook it, feeling rather awkward.

"Excuse me, Cissy," she said. She had to walk past Narcissa to get out of the room.

Then Narcissa made a strange noise that Draco realized was a choked-up sob, and then she burst into tears.

"_Andy_," she wailed, flinging her arms around a rather stunned Andromeda, who was caught off guard and sort of gently patted her on the back. "You're just the same, so clever and you still think I'm stupid, and you're right, because I was so foolish! Can you ever forgive me? I was so proud... but I was so wrong, and, oh Andy, the things I said to you- If I could take them back, I'd do it in a heartbeat, I hate myself for them now- "

"Hush," said Andromeda, who was crying now, too, Draco saw. "It's all right, now. It's- your son just said, it's been a long year. For everyone."

"I didn't know how it got to that place," Narcissa bawled, "and I've missed you desperately, all I had was Bella, and- "

"I've missed you, too."

The two women clutched at each other and cried some more. Draco felt... unecessary.

"Draco," said Narcissa, wiping at her eyes with her hands. Then she seemed to think better of it and conjured a handkerchief with her wand. "Go get your father. He's in my room."

Draco had to squeeze past the both of them in the doorway, and made his way down the long hallway. He passed Weasley on the way, who acknowledged him with a nod. Draco waved back, and then realized how odd it was that they'd done that.

And then he ran into his father. Almost literally, he was too busy wondering about why Weasley had greeted him to notice that his father was coming towards him until they were only a few feet away from one another.

"I've just heard Andromeda is here," said Lucius. "I was on my way."

"Mum sent me to go get you."

Lucius nodded.

"It's been a long time since we received Andromeda in this house," he mused aloud. "I heard about her husband. I suppose it's a shame."

"Her daughter, too," said Draco. "The one that married the werewolf."

"Oh," said Lucius. "No wonder she's here."

"I think they've made up," said Draco. "There was a great deal of crying. Mum apologized."

"Did she?" said Lucius. "I always wondered if she would do that someday. I should have known... It was Bellatrix and her parents who pushed her to cut Andromeda out of her life. Even I encouraged it. She never said she didn't want to, but I always thought it was the case. Perhaps that was cruel of us. Here we are."

They pushed open the door to find Andromeda and Narcissa sitting on the couch, holding hands, their eyes red and puffy from crying. Andromeda was speaking now.

"His name is Theodore, after my Teddy- he's a Metamor- "

She broke off and turned to face Lucius, standing up as she did so.

"Ah," she said. "Lucius. It's been years."

Lucius bowed. "Andromeda, you look well."

"Lucius," said Narcissa, "I decided- it's time that Andromeda and I made up."

Lucius nodded. Draco could see the distaste he had for the idea, although Lucius was hiding it.

"If you wish," he said curtly. "Is that all?"

"Yes," said Narcissa. "And I wanted you to see her. That's all. Run along now, darling."

Lucius's lips twitched in a small smile, but very briefly. He put his hand on the door handle, as though he was going to leave, but turned back, with a serious expression on his face.

"Andromeda, my condolences for your losses," he said.

"Thank you," said Andromeda.

Lucius left then. Draco made to follow him.

"Dad," he said, "do you want Mum and Andromeda to make up or are you just pretending to because Potter and friends think highly of her?"

"That is a factor," said Lucius. "I cannot deny that. But Andromeda is much too clever to offer herself to be used like that, and she would figure it out rather quickly. If we wanted to go that route, we'd have to proceed delicately. I don't think it's wise. She appears to really believe that we've changed."

"We have," said Draco quietly.

Lucius shrugged, and smiled.

"So yes," he said, "we are using her, if you must see it like that."

"I do," said Draco vehemently.

"As any good Slytherin would," said Lucius. He paused for a moment, before speaking again. "But over the past year I've been wondering if maybe we oughtn't have raised you with, say, more _Hufflepuff_ standards in mind."

Draco was utterly speechless. Lucius looked pained.

"Forget what I just said," he mumbled, waving his hands. "Excuse me- it's been a rather startling day, Draco, I think- I think I'll just go... have a cup of tea."

"As long as you don't think I should have been a Gryffindor," said Draco, recovering his voice.

"Good God, no," said Lucius.

"I'm going to my room," Draco announced.

"Excellent idea," said Lucius. "I shall do the same."

There was a lot that Draco needed to think about.

* * *

And that night, of course, because the day hadn't been odd enough, Potter came by again. Nothing important, just to check up on the Malfoys and to see how they were doing. He didn't even come in.

The long hall that led to the front door, or rather, the grand, high-ceilinged room had a few nooks and crannies within the walls, where Draco chose to observe what happened at the front door. He wasn't eavesdropping. He wasn't. Or hiding. Because he didn't do that either.

This time, Lucius was nearest to the door.

"Ah," he said disdainfully. "Harry Potter."

"Just dropping by to give you some messages from the Ministry," said Potter. "We're filling out the paperwork and preparing for your trial... we've spoken to your representatives. It should really be cut-and-dry. The trial itself won't take long."

"Thank you," said Lucius.

There was a pause. Potter didn't seem like that was all that he had intended to say, and Lucius, Draco guessed, was probably pretty ready to shut the door in his face.

"Is that all?" Lucius prompted. Draco heard his mother walking around upstairs, and guessed that she, too, was attempting to listen in. Good God, what a family they were.

"Er. No. Actually..." Potter stopped briefly, then started again. If Draco shut his eyes, he could imagine it: Potter, frowning and shaking his head, clearing his thoughts. "Actually I was wondering. Has... Draco spoken to you about how his Patronus lessons are going?"

"No," said Lucius. "I understand he's still taking them?"

"Er, no," said Potter, sounding confused. "He's managed to create one. He quit then."

"Why, that's excellent news," said Lucius. "I wonder why he didn't tell us. What form does it take, if I may be so bold?"

"I- I really think that's Draco's business," stammered Potter, caught completely off-guard and evidently unaware of what to do in such a case. Draco cringed. There'd be no end of questions now.

Draco pictured his father scowling.

"I see," said Lucius. "Well, thank you, Potter."

"I'd better go now," Potter said.

"Yes, I think so," said Lucius. "I think I need to have a word with my son."

"Goodbye, Malfoy," said Potter.

Lucius shut the door.

"Draco!" he shouted.

Draco stepped out from the corner in which he'd chosen to... er, observe.

"Ah," said Lucius, raising an eyebrow. "So you'll know what I'm about to ask you."

"A ferret," said Draco, shutting his eyes.

The confusion was evident on Lucius's face. He shifted the pile of papers from his hand to under his arm.

"And what," said Lucius, "could possibly be so bad about ferrets that you wouldn't tell either of your parents that you had managed to create a Patronus?"

"I don't like them," said Draco.

He'd never told his parents about his most humiliating experience. He'd never seen a need to. As far as he was concerned, that was something that would never, ever, ever be mentioned in the Malfoy household.

"Odd," said Lucius. "I have heard that Patronuses are supposed to take the form of an animal that represents the one who cast the spell. Well, I, for one, have always thought of ferrets as rather clever creatures. I think it suits you. Perhaps," and here Lucius laughed a little, "that's why you don't like them?"

"Right," said Draco. "That's- that's definitely it."

"I believe this is cause for celebration," said Lucius. "Narcissa! Draco has news for us!"

Narcissa came to the landing.

"I heard everything," she said as she walked down the stairs. She pinched Draco's cheek in a most unpleasant manner. "I'm so proud of you, darling! A Patronus. I expect not a single Black has ever done that! Well, not one that remained on the family tree anyway. And certainly no Malfoys, ever."

"Mum," said Draco, stepping back so she couldn't do anything extremely ridiculous like kiss him on the cheek and leave a big wet lipstick stain the way that she'd done when he was five.

"I think tonight is the night we take out the good wine," said Lucius. "Come, to the dining room. Draco, I am quite sure Potter thinks this is the mark of a completely new Malfoy family. He seemed rather proud of you."

_Er, right_, thought Draco. _It wasn't like he wanted to gloat or anything. No, that couldn't have _anything_ to do with it_.

"Yes," said Narcissa. "It's a step upwards for us. Draco, dear, I hope you understand the good that can come of a closer relationship with Potter."

This was a relief. Lucius seemed completely cured of his earlier doubts about Slytherin social ambition. And yet, something still seemed so wrong. Because this was _Potter_, and...

All right, Draco didn't have any idea why this made him uncomfortable. It just did, on some core level that he didn't even know existed before, let alone one he could explain to his parents. He winced when he thought of his words earlier that day.

"You two have fun," said Draco. "I've... got a headache. I'm just going to go to my room."

His parents' smiles faded, just a little. He felt a little guilty, but he just couldn't see it the same way that they did.

"Poor dear, are you sure?" asked Narcissa.

"Yeah," said Draco. "Really sure. I'm tired, okay?"

"Well, all right," said Lucius.

He left them there, and they walked down the hallway to the wine cellars. Halfway up the stairs, he almost changed his mind- why shouldn't he try to use Potter? Why should this bother him so much? He and Potter had never liked one another, never trusted one another, and if Potter was willing to think that he, Draco Malfoy, was a different person, well why shouldn't Draco let him? Why shouldn't he make as much out of this as he could?- and he turned around and started walking back down, but the sight of the corner where he'd overheard Potter asking about his Patronus lessons brought the whole mess back.

He sighed.

This was getting ridiculous.


End file.
